Changing a Mind
by cm00ncow
Summary: Not AtU. An old one story of mine where the Beatles show up in my town. They change a Beatle-hater into a Beatle-lover, much to the joy of my friend. Now, if only it really happened like this... Not my best writing, that I will warn.
1. Chapter 1

_Wrote this... well, forevever ago. I had just started to like the Beatles, after hating them for absolutely no reason beforehand... I was odd. Anyway, this is what I wrote for a friend, a fellow Beatles lover._

_Not my best work. I'm embarrassed of all 26 chapters, but it'll give a good look at my (hopefully) improvement in writing. Plus, I like the idea, just not the writing. Enjoy! Or... just laugh. That's what I do. _

**Chapter 1: Early Morning Invaders**

I groaned as I heard another whimper. It was way too early in the morning to be woken up by a needy dog, but said dog had other ideas. She let out a mournful whine. I opened my eyes and threw off the covers in a fit of anger.

"Fine, let's go outside," I mumbled, then called for my dog, Shelby. She was out of her kennel in a flash, wagging her tail at twenty mph. Groping around in the dark, I led her up the stairs, wishing we had a doggy-door for her.

After finally finding my way to the door and letting Shelby out, I sat down on the couch and stared at the clock. It was 3:30 in the morning. I vowed to wait only five minutes, then call my dog back inside.

There was a sharp bark coming from the door, making me jump awake. I had apparently fallen asleep. The clock read 3:45. I got up and let Shelby back inside. She immediately went up to my parents' room, leaving me alone in the dark.

"You're welcome, you ungrateful mutt," I mumbled under my breath. I started heading back down stairs. As I turned the corner into the hall, I could see that the light in my room was turned on. I paused, thinking that if I didn't turn it on, who did? Then, I shrugged, figuring I was too tired at this ungodly hour to remember clearly such small details like lights.

The door to my room was halfway closed, so I swung it open. To my surprise, my room was not empty, but in fact, had people in it. Sitting on my bed, were four guys that looked vaguely familiar. They hall had identical grins of amusement as I walked in the door and stood there with an idiotic look on my face. Actually, at that time, they all looked too similar to tell apart, at least in my head. My mind raced to identify who these guys were! I looked over their identical suits; I searched their faces for any clue. Finally, when I took note of their hair, I knew.

"I'm dreaming, right?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Their grins widened and one of them laughed.

"Yup," I said, confirming my own question, "it's just another one of my bizarre dreams. Next, I suppose a flying zebra will appear from behind you and start singing Mr. Roboto, am I right?"

One of them laughed and hit another on the back, "she reminds me of you, Johnny! Flying zebras…" he snorted.

I stared at them, hands on hips, completely unamused.

"Hold it, Paul! She wasn't kidding about the flying zebra thing," a third guy said, holding up my dream journal. I had begun writing my dreams in there a few months before this incident, "her first entry is about being a flying zebra!"

"Hey!" I cried, snatching the book out of his hands. I made the mistake of looking at his crestfallen face and sad, blue eyes, then immediately felt bad.

"Alright," I said, "whether this is a dream or not, you guys don't belong in my room. I'm not even a fan of your band!" I, once again, made the mistake at looking into the blue puppy-dog eyes, "No offense, of course. Do you see a single poster with you guys on it in here? Me, neither. Please, just leave. This is way too weird, even for me."

The quiet Beatle pulled a sandwich from behind him and began eating it. It was definitely made out of the bread in our kitchen.

"I'm not even gonna comment on the sandwich," I said, rubbing my forehead.

"We were hoping you'd be excited to see us. Your texts to your friend were rather entertaining," John said calmly.

"Wait… You read my texts? Stay away from my phone."

"Oh, we didn't touch your phone. Your friend left hers at the park. Here," John handed me a cell phone, "you may want to return it her for us. It was fun while we had it, though."

I took the phone. "Erm… thanks. How long have you had it?

Paul shrugged. "A day or two."

"So I've been texting you guys for the past two days?!"

"Yes. It was rather fun. You have some very random outbursts. So we came to talk to you!" Paul grinned.

"…So you snuck into my house at four in the morning?" I asked with disbelief.

"Well, actually it was three when we got here," the one with blue eyes corrected.

I smacked my forehead, then pointed at the door. "Out!"

They looked at each other, then shrugged and got up. Paul offered a hug, but I stood there with my arms crossed. Then, John offered his hand for a handshake. This I declined, too. The other two shrugged and followed John and Paul out of my room. I hoped it was the last time I'd see them.

Of course, you don't always get what you hope for.


	2. Chapter 2

_Forgot to mention that I don't own the Beatles. Also, they tend to go a bit out of character in this story, as I bent their personality to fit whatever bit of plot I had in my mind._

**Ch.2: The Morning After**

The next morning (or rather, later that morning) I woke up to my mom yelling my name.

"Oh, awesome," I groaned as I got out of bed and stumbled up the stairs, all memory of my encounter with one of the most famous bands of all time completely forgotten. My mom was standing at the top of the stairs, holding a suit jacket, with an expression of anger on her face.

"What is this?" she asked, waving the jacket.

"Uhm… That'd be a jacket," I said with a questioning tone. I was confused as to why I would be in trouble.

"Don't be cheeky," she warned, "I found this on the couch this morning."

"…Oh…Kay…" I said, bewildered.

My mom sighed, gathering her patience. "Look, I don't mind if you invite a boy over, but don't do it in secret. And certainly not at night. Ok?" Then, she gave me the jacket and walked away.

I looked down at Shelby. "What was that all about it? And whose is this?"

She looked up at me and whimpered. That little whine, so much like the one that had woken me up at 3:30, brought back the memory of my early morning invaders. I looked down at the jacket in my hands.

"Crap…" I mumbled, then raced back to my room. I shoved the jacket in a corner of my closet, then attacked my phone.

"What can you tell me about the Beatles?" I sent a quick text to my friend who was obsessed with them.

I got a reply in a few seconds. "Erm… Wut do u wanna kno? and y?"

I thought for a second. EC was my closest friend, but what she, or anyone, believe me if I said the Beatles snuck into my room? Not only that, but they had magically aged backwards. Finally, I decided on what to send. "So, u know how I've been avoiding everything Beatle-related? Well, now the Beatles are stalking me… So I need to know about them. Why don't you meet me at the library in a half an hour and we can talk. K?"

She agreed, so I quick threw some jeans and a t-shirt on. As I left my room, I remembered Megan's cell phone that John had given me. I turned back and snatched it off my desk. Megan was at the library some days, and she would probably want her phone back.

I walked into the garage and groaned. There was a minor problem. None of the cars were in the garage. My parents had both gone to work while I was getting ready to leave, so I'd be biking. Or so I thought. Looking around the garage, I found we had no bikes. While we usually had four, there wasn't a single one left.

"Why those dirty little…" I trailed off as a chain of nasty adjectives flowed though my mind. I would be walking to the library.

Twenty minutes later, I was drenched in sweat. I had not dressed for summer weather and was paying for it in the heat, but I had made it to the library. EC was sitting down at a table, calmly looking through a book on the Beatles. I sat down next to her.

"Sorry I'm late, no cars, no bikes. I had to walk."

She looked up from her book. "It's okay. So why the sudden interest in the Beatles? I thought you hated them."

"Well, I do…"

"Darn, I thought you'd changed your mind."

"No, but I need to know about them. Please, just don't ask questions. It's complicated."

EC shrugged and put down her book, saving her place with a scrap of paper. "So, where should I begin? Their teddy era? Their Sgt. Pepper era? Their-"

I interrupted. "How about starting with their names?"

EC gasped and looked at me like I had lived under a rock my whole life. "Seriously… You don't even know their names?"

"Well, I know John something-or-another, and Paul with-some-last-name…"

EC grabbed my arm. "You will learn all I can teach you about the Beatles…" And with that, she began forcing information into my brain. We spent four hours in that library, poring over Beatles books, pictures and magazine articles. At the end, I felt overwhelmed, but proud of this new knowledge.

Checking her watch, EC gave a small shout. "I have to meet Megan in five minutes!"

"Wait, before you go, can you take her phone back to her?"

She eyed me suspiciously. "Where did you get her phone…?"

"Erm… A friend gave it to me," I said, with emphasis on the word 'friend', "You should go if you don't want to be late."

EC gave me a look suggesting she'd rather figure out how I got the phone than see Megan, but she shook her head and sighed before speed-walking towards the door. I got up and put all of our Beatles books away, then prepared to brave the summer heat once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch 3: The Mess They Left**

Once I got home, I found a note on our counter. I almost ignored it, but I realized it was not written in either of my parents' handwriting. So I picked it up and read what it said:

"Hello! Ringo forgot his jacket last night on your couch. Where'd you put it? I couldn't find it. I guess I'll just have to come back again tonight. What a shame, eh? Oh, and George wants to know who made those peanut butter cookies. He said they were delicious! I wish I had one. Oh, and I hope you don't mind that we borrowed your bikes. Walking is such a pain in this heat. We had to move the seat down on the purple bike for Ringo! Haha! Well, I'll see you later, then.

~John Lennon

P.S. Does your bloody dog ever shut up? It's rather annoying."

I crumpled the note up and threw it in the garbage. Then, for good measure, I took that garbage bag out to the garage. Dusting off my hands, I walked down to my room.

"Seriously?" I exclaimed. My room was trashed. Notebooks were all over the floor, my clothes were scattered among the papers, and all of my drawers were wide open. Worst of all, my song notebook and my dream journal were laying open on my bed with my guitar. I picked up my dream journal first, and leafed through it. In the margins of every page were little comments on my dreams. They were written in the same handwriting as the note: John's.

Moving on, I picked up my song notebook. Ever since I could play three little chords on the guitar, I had attempted to write songs. There were at least 15 pages of lyrics and chords written in that notebook. Now, among those 15 pages, were the corrections made by the man who broke into my house twice. Every song had little side notes, suggestions for different lyrics that completely changed the meaning of the song. I shut it angrily. Those two notebooks showed all my deepest thoughts and feelings, both subconscious and awake, and he had gone in and read them without a second thought.

"Jerk," I mumbled as I began to organize my room. I found the remote for my CD player and pushed play, expecting my Goo Goo Dolls CD to begin blasting music. Instead, it began blasting a different kind of music.

"Why that self-centered jerk!" I yelled as I punched the stop button. I was not in the mood to listen to John'svoice singing.

I grabbed my iPod instead, hoping it still the music I put on it and nothing more. Luckily for me, it did, although I noticed the battery, which was fully charged that morning, was now only halfway charged, as though someone had listened to it for a couple of hours.

"John…" I growled as I put the headphones in my ears. I began to straighten up my disheveled room. It took a lot longer than I had expected, so by the time I had finished, my parents were home from work and were preparing dinner.

I went up to the kitchen to find me dad peering into the cookie jar. He put the lid back on sadly and opened the fridge instead. He saw me at the top of the stairs.

"Where did all the peanut butter cookies go?" he asked.

I groaned inwardly, but made up a quick cover story to tell him.

"I brought them to Megan's house. I hope you didn't mind; I was the one who made them. She invited a bunch of friends over to her place and asked if I could bring some cookies or something," I told him. He bought it, but gave a last mournful look at the empty cookie jar. I cursed George silently.

The rest of the night went on as it normally would. My parents went to bed at eight, leaving me to find something to do in my room. All was average, but I knew I had an unwelcome visitor coming over later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch 4: The Unwelcome Visitor**

I sat in my room that night. I would not be caught off guard by falling asleep, but there was no way I was going to wait for and welcome John through the front door, either.

Unfortunately, sitting is boring. So, I ended up quietly strumming my acoustic guitar to stay awake. For hours, I sat there softly singing songs I knew by heart. When that became mundane, I began making up nonsense that matched the chords I was playing. By the time midnight rolled around, my fingers had begun to ache, and I was thoroughly tired of the chords I knew.

I set my guitar down and stood up to stretch. As usual, I managed to stand up too fast. I let the blackness cloud my vision as I steadied my balance. I stared straight ahead, unblinking, until the darkness began to roll out of my sight.

"Wha-WOAH!" I gasped and staggered back. A hand grabbed my shoulder in an attempt to keep me from falling.

"John!" I hissed and pulled away. This jerk caused me to trip over my bed frame and fall over backwards. John laughed and offered his hand, which I refused. He shrugged and pulled his hand back, stuffing both hands in his pockets. I pulled myself up and glared at him. It was just my luck to make a fool of myself in any situation.

"Your guitar could use some work," he said calmly.

"Your entrances could use some work," I spat back, " How'd you get in my house, anyways?"

"George. He's an excellent lock picker. Quiet, too. He went back outside an hour ago. Said he was bored."

"An hour ago? How long have you been here?!" I demanded.

"Two hours. You sing about some strange things. I've never heard of a watermelon squash. You're not on drugs, are you?"

I blushed, remembering my completely random songfest. "No, I don't do drugs! You've been here for two hours, seriously? What is wrong with you?"

"I was waiting for you to finish singing!" he snapped, losing his cool, "Obviously, I should have rudely interrupted you!"

"Look, do you want the jacket or not?!" I barked.

John blinked. I sighed. "I'm sorry. Did you want Ringo's jacket?" I asked calmly.

"I probably should bring it back to him. It's why I came over here," he replied with an edge of regret in his voice.

I went to the closet and grabbed it out of the corner. Thrusting it towards him, I sat back down on the bed.

"So that's where you hid it!" he said, taking the jacket.

"Mhm," i replied, keeping myself calm, "and I didn't appreciate you digging through my clothes. Especially my underwear drawer."

A smile spread over his face and I took a moment to wonder what went on in his brain. Then I realized I probably didn't want to know.

There was a quiet knock on my window that made me jump. I opened the shades, expecting to see a mouse or mole stuck in the window well. Instead, another Beatle was peering in. I sighed and opened the window, wondering how this had happened to me.

"Paul?" John and I both said, not quite in unison.

"Hey, you two having fun?" he asked as he slid into the room.

I looked at John, then let out a dry laugh. "Oh, loads of it," I replied sarcastically, giving John a glare that he ignored.

He let out a snort.

Looking at my guitar and open songbook on my bed, Paul laughed. "Guitar lessons? Well, I'm sure that went… well."

"No, no lessons," John said, "although, if you're willing to teach her, we'd all appreciate it."

"You know what?! I was doing just fine-"

"Oookay, sorry I brought it up," Paul interrupted.

I had an idea then. It was random and I could have gotten in a lot of trouble for it from my parents, but I wanted the Beatles out of my house. Besides, I could feel my tiny store of spontaneity bubbling up inside of me, ready to burst out.

"PAUL!"

He looked at me, startled. "…Mooncow?"

"Ringo!" John piped in, looking at where Ringo sat in my window well, just outside my room.

"John!" Ringo replied excitably.

"George?" Paul called out, trying to peer past Ringo out the window.

"John," George said, calmly walking into my room through the door.

"George!" Ringo said, hopping down into my room.

"Paul!" John said, pushing him out of his way as he picked up my guitar.

"John!" I scolded, taking my guitar back and setting it in a corner of my room.

"Mooncow!" John whined.

"George!" Ringo said, as he saw the muffin that George was eating.

"John?" Paul questioned, watching as he conspicuously edged towards my guitar.

"RINGO!" Ringo said excitably, noticing that his own name had not been said recently.

"GUYS!" I hissed, "Shh. I have an idea."

They all looked at me. George was standing in the doorway, finishing off his muffin. Ringo was standing on my bed. Paul was standing in front of the window, watching Ringo. John had one arm extended towards my guitar that he quickly pulled away and looked around with a not-so-innocent look on his face.

"Paul, you have to come with me! I have a friend who would love to meet you!" I said.

John elbowed Paul. "Here that, Paulie? She's got a friend!" He winked and nudged him again. Paul pushed him away and tried to hide his blush.

I began to crawl out the window. "Come one!" I said. When Paul looked hesitant I grabbed his hand and urged him to follow me.

"What? Now?" Paul asked as he crawled out after me. John flicked off my bedroom light and he, George and Ringo followed us through the window.

"So…" began John as he stood up and dusted off his pants, "Where are we going?"

"Shush," I said, then led them to the front yard. Lying in the grass were four bikes that used to reside in our garage. I glanced at the Beatles, thinking that there were five of us and only four bikes…

"Last one there has to ride on the handlebars!" John exclaimed as he broke out into a run, pushing me to the ground in the process.

Paul, George and Ringo ran after him. I quickly got up and sprinted after them, thankful for my years in High School Track. Unfortunately, with such a short distance, I couldn't get ahead of them.

John claimed a bike first, with Paul just a footstep behind him. George was next, followed by Ringo, who got my purple bike. I was half a step behind Ringo.

"Nuh-uh," I said, "there's no way I'm riding on the handlebars!" I stood up straight, both self-conscious and proud of my six-foot height.

John laughed. "Why don't you sit here?" he patted the handlebars on his bike.

John shook his head slowly, then got on his bike. I raised an eyebrow and looked at John, imagining the failure of him trying to balance the bike. Then, I thought of why he would want me sitting in that spot.

"Eugh, John, I'd rather run there than sit on that bike's handlebars.

He looked mildly disappointed, but shrugged and put a foot on the pedal. "So, where we going?"

I realized that I was, in fact, going to have to run the whole way. Sighing, I started jogging, grateful that I had changed into comfortable shorts. I was going to have run five miles, so I braced myself for pain and suffering, determined not to look weak. I knew giving EC a surprise like this was what I wanted to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch 5: Breaking And Entering**

"Someone else can run on the way back," I panted as we took a break at the end of EC's driveway. I was sore in every part of my legs and my lungs burned, but I had made it, drenched in sweat as I was. The Beatles dropped their bikes in the grass, then John quickly raised a finger to his nose.

"Nose goes!" he yelled. George was quick to follow, while Paul and I took a second to figure out was going on. Ringo was the last one, though. He gave a shout of surprise, then touched his own nose. Looking around, he realized that he had lost.

"Too slow, Rings!" John said with a devious smile.

"Now wait a minute!" Ringo began to argue.

"Guys!" I hissed, "first, shush. Second, argue later. George can you get us through the door?"

He nodded, so we all followed him over to it. Looking at the keypad, he scratched his head, then turned to look at us.

"Well?" prompted Paul.

"Nope. We have to try a window," George said, shrugging.

I thought for a second, then led them to the backyard, where a window was just above ground level. George squatted next to it and dug in his pocket for something, then began to work.

I looked at John, about to ask how long it usually took. Before I could say a word, George called out, "Done, " and slid the window open. I shut my mouth as Ringo went over to help him pop out the screen without a sound.

I walked over to the window and, with a moment's hesitation, crawled in. I heard John say "Ladies first," then Paul slid into the house a little too quickly, falling on his side. John crawled in after him and helped him up. Ringo and George followed, leaving the screen outside, but closing the glass window.

I had a moment of uncertainty. I had never broken into another house, had never even snuck out of my own before. My doubts washed over me. If we were caught, I was in big trouble. Then, I remembered who I was with. If I was caught, nobody would give our crime a second thought; they'd simply stare in wonder at the younger version of the Beatles.

With that thought in my head, I took a slow breath and walked up the stairs. Halfway up, it dawned on me that EC owned two dogs. I winced as I heard a low growl.

"Crap," I muttered, then slid over to where the dogs were. I reached out my hand to them, letting them remember my scent. With my other hand I began to pet the louder of the two, a german shepherd whose growl was deep and throaty. The growls abated, turning into little puppy whimpers of pleasure. Next to her, the little westie had a quiet rumble wavering in her throat. I was about to reach over and pet her too, when a hand beat me to it. I looked up and saw Paul squatting down and scratching the little dog's ears. I smiled to myself.

"And they tame the fiercest of the fierce beasts: the domestic dog," whispered John with a grin, miming a mock-applause. My smile disappeared as I gave him a sour look.

"Lay down," I quietly ordered the dogs. I had seen EC and her family give them the same command dozens of times. After a moment's hesitation, the two dogs sank down to the ground and put their heads on their paws.

I saw John open his mouth to say something, no doubt something extraordinarily witty, but I quickly nudged him and put my finger to my lips in a universal "shh" sign. Then, I got up and led the four of them up another flight of stairs and down a hallway.

"There's her room," I whispered, gesturing towards a closed door. They all looked at me, expecting me to do the honors of opening the door. Sighing, I thought once again how ridiculous this plan was. Then, hoping EC's room would fit all of us, I opened the door and walked in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch 6: The Time Difference**

The Beatles all crammed in her doorway, then shut the door behind them. I walked over to EC's bed, wondering what the best way to wake her up was.

Ringo made that choice easy, as he brushed against the light switch, filling the room with illumination and blinding us all. I heard EC mumble something. When I could see again, she had buried her face into her blanket in an attempt to block the harsh light.

"Oops," Ringo muttered.

Hearing a British accent brought EC a step out of her subconscious. She rolled over, then blinked her eyes open. Squinting, she tried to figure out who was in her room.

"Wha-AAH!" she cried excitedly, then frowned, "bloody hell, this is a dream, isn't it?"

I laughed, then motioned for everyone to come closer. "If this is a dream, then you have my permission to punch me," I told her.

She grabbed her glasses off her bookshelf. "Oh my gawd, it is them. Paulie, Rings, and Johnny!"

"You forgot one," I told her. George waved.

"Hi, George," she said, then looked at Paul, eyes wide.

Paul, I noticed, was also staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. John was looking at her guitar. George had somehow found an apple, and was contentedly munching it. Ringo was looking around EC's room in amazement.

"Why, that looks a bit like you, Paul. And that one like you, George!" he said, pointing at a poster of them in their Sergeant Pepper outfits, "And, could that be me?"

I looked at him, a quizzical expression on my face. "Yeah, and that one's John."

George and Paul crowded around the poster, too. They touched it in amazement.

"John, what happened to you?" asked Paul, staring at John's face in the picture. That took John's attention from EC's guitar.

"What are you talking about, Paul?" he asked as he stood on his tip-toes and squinted at the picture. I moved to the side, realizing I was an inch or two taller than the rest of them. The four of them stood in awe of that poster.

"Wait," said EC, standing behind them, "How did you guys get here?"

"Through the window," George said, still preoccupied with the picture.

"What?" EC blinked and looked at me, half-angry. Then she shook her head and corrected her question, "No, how did you get here? In this decade?"

"What are you talking about?" Paul asked, "It's no big deal. Yeah, it's '63, so what?"

EC and I both stared at him. John, Ringo, and George turned around.

"It _is_'63, isn't it?" John asked.

I shook my head slightly, then continued to stare at them. I probably should have thought to ask that question and so many more, but I just accepted the fact that they were here. I was too caught up in the fact that they snuck into my house to think to question how they got into our time.

John looked from me to EC, who was staring at them, slack-jawed. I could almost hear the gears in her mind whirling, trying to make sense of this strange situation.

"Well, if this isn't '64, what is it? Did we pass over some weird time zone that's a year ahead?" John asked.

"Uhm, I don't think so… You see-" I began.

"It's 2011!" exclaimed EC, "You just skipped over nearly fifty years! Fifty years!" she turned to me, "Maybe we were born in the right decade after all. Instead of us going to the Beatles, the Beatles came to us!"

Looking at the Beatles' ashen faces, I nudged EC out of the way, then told the guys to sit down on the bed. They numbly did as they were told. Not even John had anything to say.

EC and I gave them a couple of minutes to recover, then I began asking questions.

"What have you been doing in the past couple days, before you met me?"

John tried to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "We were on our way to a gig in Minneapolis, our first Minnesota concert. When we got off our plane, nobody was there to pick us up, like they usually would be. So we rented a car and drove to this town and found a phone in the park."

"We were warned that American technology was stranger than our own, and they were right! Telephones without cords and this texting thing, mini instant telegrams," added George.

"I was surprised our usual flock of fans wasn't mobbing us, but then, listening to the radio, I figured you all liked songs about trucks and guns more. There was a lot of that on the radio," Ringo said.

I glanced at EC, who seemed to be deep in thought.

"So, your plane. What happened to that?" I asked, wondering how a plane from the '60's was overlooked.

"How should we know?" John asked, "We're not exactly fascinated by another airplane."

"It flew back right away," Paul said quietly, "it didn't even wait five minutes after we got inside your airport. It just turned around, flew back."

"This doesn't make sense," EC muttered. She looked at Paul, sitting there dejectedly, and her eyes softened.

I happened to glance at my watch and was surprised to see that it was 3:25. Not that I trusted anything that kept time, at the point, but it was the most accurate time-keeping device I had. I stood up quickly. Five pairs of eyes looked at me with interest.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I need to be home before my parents find I'm gone. I guess you guys could come with me… But I wouldn't know where to hide you at my house," I said.

"Oh, I think one of you can stay here," EC offered, looking at Paul. Paul looked up, then around at the other Beatles.

"Yeah, I'll stay here," he said. EC's face brightened.

"Alright, I guess everyone else should follow me. We have to fix the window before we leave, too," I reminded them. John, Ringo, and George got up and followed me out the door. "Oh, EC? Text me so we can all talk about this later."

We tip-toed down the stairs, ignoring the dogs that began to slowly wag their tails. Down the other flight of stairs, we approached the window. I slid it open and clambered out. John followed, then George, and finally Ringo. George put the screen back on and slid the window shut. That done, we walked to where the bikes were stashed.

Nobody said a word. I vowed to keep an eye on them, figuring they were still in shock.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch 7: Through the Night**

When we arrived back at my house, everyone was dead on their feet, me included. I knew the three Beatles wouldn't make it back to wherever they were staying, so I led them to my window well. They silently climbed in, stumbling once or twice, and I followed, closing the window behind me.

I wanted to collapse on my bed, but so did the others. I knew that would not work, so I began to think of where I could possibly house the three of them for the night. It would have to be a place comfortable, but hidden away from the eyes of my family, who would not react well to knowing I had three boys in the house regardless of who they are.

"Ok, guys," I said, stifling a yawn, "Two of you could fit comfortably in the closet." I moved my closet curtains aside and pulled my laundry basket out, shoving that in a corner of my room. I was thankful that my dad was bad at building rooms. When he built my room, he misjudged the size of the closet, making it twice the size of an average closet. It was probably eight feet across and four feet wide.

John motioned for George and Ringo to go on. They walked over and lay down on the floor. Handing them a pillow and blanket each, I closed the curtains and made certain you couldn't tell two guys were sleeping in my closet. I sincerely hoped nobody snored.

John stood leaning against the wall, eyes closed. I knew how he felt. All I wanted to do was go to sleep.

"Alright, John," I yawned, willing my tired mind to find a solution to where he could sleep. He opened his eyes. "I think you could sleep on this rug, and if I put my comforter and another blanket over you, hopefully nobody will realize you're there. My parents don't take too kindly to strangers in my room."

"We're hardly strangers anymore," John replied sleepily, grabbing the comforter off of my bed and a blanket from a basket in the corner of my room. He lay down and covered himself with the two. I hoped my parents wouldn't take a close look at my room.

Wishing I could shower, but knowing my parents would get suspicious if I did, I flopped down on my bed and fell asleep.

"Psst, Mooncow," I heard a quiet voice. Rolling over, I groaned and tried to fall back into my dream.

"Mooncow," the voice repeated, and I felt a small prod in my side.

"What?" I mumbled, opening my eyes. I had to blink a couple times to get my contacts into focus. I knew I should have taken them out the night before, but I hated my glasses with a passion.

John was sitting on the floor next to my bed, his hair wild, looking at me.

"Ugh," I groaned, still sleepy, "what do you want?"

"Your telephone was vibrating," he said, handing it to me, "it's Paul and your friend, EC."

I took the phone from him and sat up. Looking at the clock, I saw it was 10:30. EC had sent me a text only a few minutes before. It read: "We need to meet up. Under the Mississippi bridge at 11:30? And Paul says hi."

I sent a quick reply: "Sounds good, see u then."

"We're biking again," I informed John as I got up and walked to my closet to find some clean clothes to wear. I reached for the curtain, then pulled back as I remembered where the other two Beatles had slept. I knocked on the wall instead.

"George? Ringo?" I called quietly.

There was the sound of rustling blankets, then a loud thud.

"Bloody hell, where am I?" I heard Ringo ask, "George, get out of the way, you great lump!"

The curtains rustled and George crawled out, followed by Ringo.

"Guys, we have about forty minutes to get ready to meet up with Paul and EC," I told them, approximating that it would take about twenty minutes to bike to our meeting place. I then stepped in my closet to pull out a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt.

John tried to smooth down his hair with his hands, but it didn't make it much neater.

"I'm going to take a shower. We have two showers, so someone can take the other bathroom," I offered. John called out that he'd shower first, leaving George and Ringo to wait their turns.

"Well, don't take your time, Johnnie," Ringo commanded.

I walked out of the room and up the stairs, looking back to make sure John was following. Throwing my clothes in the bathroom, I led him up another flight of stairs, then took a sharp corner and led him up more stairs. Turning to the right, I motioned towards the bathroom, then grabbed a towel out of the closet and tossed it to him.

"Shampoo's in there already," I informed John, then headed back down the stairs. I heard the door click shut and the water begin to pound on the floor of the shower. Walking back down to the lower-level bathroom, I hoped he'd have the sense not to mess up the bathroom at all. I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I paused, then locked it, figuring it was a smart thing to do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch 8: The Magical Front Door**

Twenty minutes later, I walked out with a hair-dryer in one hand and my brush and straightener in the other. On my arm, I had a clean towel. I went down the stairs and into my room. George was gone, and John sat on the bed, his shirt only half-buttoned, with sopping wet hair. Ringo sat next to him. I tossed the clean towel at Ringo.

"Up the stairs and to the right," I told him. He saluted and walked out of the room.

"Is that a hair-dryer?" John asked.

"No, it's a new high-tech stun gun," I replied sarcastically.

"Good, I left mine at home. This should serve as a good replacement," he said with a straight face, grabbing the hair-dryer out of my grasp. He plugged it into the outlet, then pointed it at me. "Don't move!"

I rolled my eyes and took a step towards him, reaching for the hair-dryer.

He turned it so it pointed at his temple. "I'll do it, I will."

I reached for the on switch and the thing roared to life, blowing his hair into his face. "No, I did the honors this time."

He dropped it and pantomimed his death. I tried to hold back a laugh, but failed. John jumped up and pointed the still-roaring hair-dryer at me, making my hair fly back from my face.

"You know, at some point, I do have to dry my hair," I said with more amusement in my voice than I had planned.

John grinned and put it back to his own head. "I guess you'll just have to wait for the stunning effects to wear off." He began to dry his own hair, clumsily. I sighed and snatched the hair-dryer from him. I grabbed my brush and began to dry his hair for him, feeling completely ridiculous.

I was just finishing up when George walked in the door shirtless. He sat next to John on the bed.

"I think he's waiting in line," commented John,

"Well, he's gonna have to wait a little longer," I replied, turning the hair-dryer to my own hair. I checked my watch and found we only had ten minutes until we had to leave. Sighing, I turned the hair-dryer off and put my hair into a quick ponytail, securing the loose hairs that weren't quite long enough with bobby pins. George was still looking at me expectantly, as was John. I told George to put a shirt on, then sighed deeply and turned the dryer back on.

"Move, John," I said as I pointed the dryer at George. I quickly dried his hair, noticing it wasn't nearly as thick as John's, or my own for that matter. As I was doing this, Ringo walked in. He looked at us, all sitting on the bed, me drying George's hair and John on the other side of me, grinning like an idiot. Ringo slowly backed out of the room.

"Come on in, Rings," John called, "she's a-"

I elbowed John. Hard. "Sorry," I said, shrugging. I figured he was going to say something uncouth, and I was probably right in that.

Ringo peeked in the doorway. "I don't want to interrupt anything," he said. I rolled my eyes and turned off the hair-dryer again.

Looking at Ringo, I sighed again. "I suppose you wanted your hair dried, too?" I asked, "I'm really not a hair-stylist, in any way." He considered this for a moment, then shook his head.

"Alright, then, let's go," I said, looking at my watch again and finding it was, in fact, time to leave. John, George, and Ringo started towards the window.

"Yeah, you could use the window," I told them, "But here in America, we have this magical thing called a front door. Would you like to try it?"

They looked at each and shrugged. "A front door, eh?" John asked, "what a strange creation. I think we're up for trying new things."

"Sure are," George agreed.

I rolled my eyes and led them up the stairs and to the front door.

Unfortunately, though my parents had gone to work, my dog was still home. She had been sleeping in my parents' room while we were all showering, but now she was sprawled in front of the door. She heard footsteps and began to slowly thump her tail, not opening her eyes.

"What a strange-looking dog," John said, reaching out to pet her. At the sound of a strange voice, Shelby jumped up and began barking her most ferocious bark. It wasn't a very scary bark, in my opinion, but the threat was still there and the Beatles took a step back, hiding behind me.

"Oh, shut up," I told Shelby, then grabbed her muzzle, slightly muting the sound of her incessant barking.

I looked at John, George, and Ringo. "Well, are you guys gonna open the door, or what?" I asked, "If you go first, I can follow and lock her," I dropped my eyes to the dog for a second, then looked back at them, "in the house."

Ringo stepped up and opened the door, keeping an eye on my dog. John and George followed.

Once they had left, I let go of Shelby and slid out the door. As I closed it, I had to push her muzzle back inside with a gentle nudge from my foot. Once I closed the door, I walked to where we had dropped our bikes the night before.

John, Ringo, and George had already mounted their bikes and were ready to go. I hopped on the one left, my dad's super-tall bike, and started down the street. I headed into town and down by the river, leading the Beatles to a little-known spot in town that was perfect for meeting up with a friend in secret.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ch 9: Seeing a New Way**

As soon as we reached the park, I led the three Beatles down a steep hill, enjoying the speed, the wind in my face. We were biking right next to the Mississippi river. It rushed past us, flowing the opposite way and giving me the illusion we were going faster than we actually were. If I were alone, I probably would have whooped for joy. As it was, I stayed quiet, just grinning like an idiot.

We began to near the bridge. I slowly applied my brakes, effectively reducing my speed so I would be able to stop quickly and painlessly. I heard a hoot of joy, and looked behind me to check on the Beatles. They were all still there, enjoying the speed as I had. As I watched, they began to slow down, following my example.

Once I had coasted to the bridge, I followed the path leading even closer to the river. I applied the brakes, wincing as they squealed in protest, then stepped off the bike. Ringo, John, and George did the same a second after me.

"We're here," I announced, looking around. Above us, the bridge glowed with the river's reflective light. The wall to our left had graffiti scattered sporadically in many different colors, while the sidewalk below us had a few pale outlines where someone had once written a large colorful message that was no longer discernable. The whole setting seemed like it belonged in another world, but it had somehow managed to end up in my hometown.

John and Ringo were both looking around in awe, taking in the weird beauty of our surrounding. George was walking along the sidewalk, looking down and mumbling to himself, probably trying to figure out what the message had once said.

" 'ey!" John cried out, squinting farther up the path, "isn't someone coming our way?"

It was apparent that not only was someone coming our way, but that someone was EC, followed by Paul. I could see them very clearly, but John still seemed unsure that what he was seeing was a person at all, let alone that one of them was his band mate.

"Uhm, yeah," I told him, "it's EC and Paul… Can't you see them?"

John looked offended, "Of course I can see them. Paul and your friend."

Ringo and George exchanged a quick look.

"Right," I said, not quite believing him, "then you can obviously see what a nice hat EC has. Looks awesome, doesn't it?"

Squinting in her direction, John cautiously agreed, "Yes, anyone can see it's a fine hat…"

In fact, EC was not wearing a hat. Her brown hair was being slightly stirred by the wind, free from any hat.

"John?" I asked, staring into his caramel eyes, "you can't really see her, can you?"

"Sure I can," he countered defensively. Ringo rolled his eyes while George shifted uncomfortably.

I gave John a sympathetic look, then opened the small backpack I had brought along. I pulled out my glasses case. I usually brought it with me in case my contacts fail me, even though I hated wearing my glasses, probably as much as John seemed to. I handed him my pair of glasses, thankful I had opted for a much less girly pair this year.

He took them, turned them over in his hand, then shoved them back at me, an obvious refusal.

"John," I said softly, "try them on. They may be a little strong, but hopefully they'll help a bit. Please put them on."

"Do it, Johnnie," Ringo added.

John sighed and took the glasses from my hand. He made a face as he raised them to his eyes. Blinking, he looked around again.

"Better?" I asked, wondering if he could actually see through my thick lenses. I had terrible eyesight.

"That bird's not wearing a hat!" John exclaimed, then looked at me in surprise, "your eyes are as blue as Ringo's!"

Ringo rolled his blue eyes, as I rolled my own. I realized that John was right, though; our eye color was very similar. I managed to unfocus one of my contacts while rolling my eyes, so the world was an odd mixture of clarity and blurred blobs through my eyes. I looked down and blinked rapidly until I could see clearly out of both eyes again.

"So I take it the glasses fit your need pretty well?" I asked, looking up.

"Sure, I can see," he replied, "but do I want to _be _seen?" He gestured towards the glasses resting on his nose.

George snorted and tried to pass it off as a sneeze.

"Bless you," Paul said as he pulled up on his bike. I noticed that Paul was riding EC's dad's bike.

"Just wear the glasses, they're cool now anyways," I assured John, not certain if glasses were actually cool, or not.

"Hey," EC waved as she got off her bike. I took in her grim attempt at a smile. "I've got bad news."

Paul nodded, then added, "And some bad news it is, too."

"Great," I said with a sigh. I had been hoping there would be only good news. I was sadly mistaken.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: The Magic Act**

"Bad news?" asked Ringo with dismay.

"Bad news," Paul repeated, confirming what we didn't want to hear.

"Well, " I said, looking at EC, "what is it then?"

At the same time, John was demanding information from Paul.

"Wait, hold on now," Ringo said, outing his arms up in exasperation, "I wanna hear one person speak at a time."

EC and Paul looked at each other. They seemed to have a whole conversation in one little glance, and I wondered how they had gotten so close in that little amount of time they'd been together.

EC spoke up as Paul leaned against the wall, "Well, Paul and I did a little research last night. And it solved my question of why nobody seems to notice that the Beatles are in Minnesota."

As she paused, I wondered what she meant. Sure, they had managed to avoid suspicion so far, but I assumed that was just them being sneaky and lucky.

"Right, 'cause it can't be that we're in the wrong decade, that's too obvious," John said. I nodded, agreeing with his sarcasm.

"Ah, but everyone knows what the Beatles, you guys, used to look like. Even if they've lived under a rock all their lives, they still have a vague recognition of your faces, " EC glanced at me, implying that I was the one who lived under the rock, "When we tried to find information about you guys, there was very little. Next to nothing, actually. Even though, three days ago, the world was filled with Beatles information. Somehow, it all disappeared!"

"So, what _did_you find about them?" I asked, wondering how lack of information could be qualified as bad news.

"Well…just their disappearance in the newspaper. Apparently, the plane they took to Minneapolis came back alright, but they never did. After the day they left England for Minnesota, nobody saw them again. They disappeared, and their music died out as their strange story became old news. Now, they're just another unknown band name. Nobody knows who the Beatles are."

John and Ringo stared at EC, unmoving. George's eyes widened and he let out a gasp. Paul stood by the wall, looking down sadly.

"So…they never went back?" I repeated, my mind whirling, "then, is there no hope for them to go back to their own time?"

John snapped his gaze to me, his mouth forming a soundless word, no doubt a curse of some kind. EC bit her lip and looked up at me, doubt crossing her face. All of the Beatles had a pale look to their face for the second time in the past twelve hours.

"Disappearing…" John croaked, then cleared his throat, "it's like a bloody magic act!"

"Yeah," Ringo said, glumly, "Except in a magic act, the people who disappear always come back and reappear…"

I felt chills crawl up my spine, a bit delayed, but still as creepy as ever. I felt my knees begin to weaken, so I tried to readjust my stance. Instead, I managed to trip and fall into John. He automatically caught me, then hesitated for a moment. I tried to cover my embarrassment and regain my strength after the strange sci-fi shock we all received. As I finally gathered enough strength to support myself, I felt arms reaching around me. I looked up into John's eyes, our gaze going through my contacts and the glasses he wore. I hugged him back, burying my head in his shoulder. It felt amazing to be hugging him to my surprise, but I wished it could have been happening under other circumstances.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered to him.

"He made a quiet croaking noise, and I felt his hot tears fall onto my shoulder.

A tear for everything he lost that he had no hope of getting back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Closer**

"What do we do, then?"George asked quietly.

There was silence. I pulled myself apart from John and looked around at everyone. Ringo was looking up, trying not to let any of his tears fall. George was slumped against the wall next to a blue and purple graffiti message that read: Hope. Paul was holding EC's hand and they both looked down. I saw a tear drop from Paul's eye just as moment before EC let one of her own fall. My vision blurred as tears welled up in my own eyes. I realized that I no longer thought of these people as weird strangers, but rather as friends. It's funny how things like this pull people closer together. I leaned against John, wishing I had an answer for his future and that of his friends. But I didn't have a solution, just a bunch of "what if's."

"I…I don't know what we can do to fix this, but," I started, my voice shaking as tears ran down my face, "but we can try to make things better now."

Five pairs of eyes looked at me in confusion. Not a one of those eyes was dry.

"What?" Paul asked in a quiet voice that was trembling as much as my own.

"We can do something. It's not the end of the world. If you can't go back, you'll need a future here," I decided, although I had no idea where that future would be, "And that can start now. With something small. Have you guys ever seen a Disney movie?"

Blank stares were my only response. Even EC, who enjoyed old Disney movies as much as I did, met me with a confused look. She was probably more confused about how I got from their future to Disney movies, though. It was a bit of a random leap.

"Right," I said, a little uncertainly, "We could go back to my house and relax, maybe sit on the couch and watch a movie," I offered.

"Sure," EC replied after a moment's hesitation, "We can do that. Your house is closer than mine anyways.

I looked at the Beatles, wondering if they'd be up for another bike ride. Looking at John's face, level with my own, I made up my mind, and theirs.

"Alright, my house it is," I said, wiping my eyes with my t-shirt sleeve. I took a step towards my bike and away from John's warm, comforting side and immediately missed being next to him. But I continued on, knowing that nobody else would take the lead at this point. I looked expectantly at everyone else, who hadn't moved. I felt another wave of tears coming, and wondered again how I could be feeling so much emotion for these four guys that I had met only two days ago.

"Paul?" EC said, looking up at his face, both their cheeks stained with tears, "Will you come with me?"

Paul put his arm around her and nodded. They walked to their bikes together. That seemed to break everyone else's paralysis. George picked himself off of the ground and followed John and Ringo to their bikes. John wheeled his bike next to mine, then swung himself up on top of it.

"Hell of a weird day, innit?" he said, trying to push his emotions aside, but anyone could see through his thin mask.

"The worst is over," I said softly, hoping I was right. Feeling silly and childish, I let go of one of the handles on my bike. Seeing this, John put a sad smile on his face and let go of one of his bike handles. He reached out his hand towards mine, and I grabbed his. No longer feeling stupid, I started pedaling, my hand still in his. That's how we biked the whole way to my house: hand in hand.

The ride was strange when I began to think about it. While four British guys with mops should have attracted everyone's attention, nobody seemed to notice at all. They just gave our group a passing glance, then continued on their merry way. I began to wonder how our group looked to the eyes of an outsider. Me and John holding hands, leading three more guys and a girl, all of us with both old and fresh tears, crying quietly. People should have looked, should have wondered, but even Minnesotans, known for being "Minnesota Nice" didn't give a crap about us. I was both relieved that nobody asked any questions, and disappointed in my town.

Once we filed through my front door, I led everyone downstairs onto our family room. There was a sectional couch that fit four people, and an ottoman/foot rest. Opposite the couch was a large entertainment center with an old TV, a VCR, and a DVD player. I turned on the lights, deciding to keep the blinds shut.

"Why don't you guys pick out a movie?" I said, pointing to the cabinets next to the TV that were stuffed full of both VHS's and DVD's.

I went back up the stairs, into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, realizing my throat was burning with thirst. I grabbed a water bottle, then five more, figuring the others were probably thirsty, too. Remembering how George always seemed to be hungry, I opened the cupboard and grabbed a bag of chips, balancing it on the water bottles stacked in my arms. I closed the cupboard with my foot, then walked back down the stairs.

Ringo had taken the far seat of the couch, separated from the two seats Paul and EC had taken by a cup holder. Next to EC's seat was another cup holder divider, then the space that George had taken. The trapezoidal ottoman was pushed against the bookcase that stood by the wall next to George. John sat on the ottoman with his back to the bookcase. He had left room, presumably for me. I passed around the water bottles, receiving nods and a word I could only assume met thanks: ta. I gave the bag of chips to Ringo, hoping he understood that they were to be shared.

Looking at the TV, I saw a preview for "The Little Mermaid." It seemed they had the TV figured out, so I flicked off the lights and made my way towards John. I was so emotionally drained, I felt numb. Numb and tired. I sat down next to John and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. As the movie began with the presentation of a lion cub by a baboon, I let my head rest on his chest, my terrible slouch making me shorter than him, rather than the same height. I closed my eyes, letting the familiar sounds of "The Lion King" fill my mind. The warmth coming from John lulled me, and soon I found myself in a land created by my subconscious mind. Falling past that, I found deep sleep.

I woke up to a chorus of quiet snores. The TV was glowing blue, and the clock informed me that I had been asleep for two hours. John had his head resting on mine, his arm still slung around my shoulders. I glanced over at the couch to find Paul and EC in a similar state. I smiled and pressed closer to John. Ringo was sprawled sideways on his chair with his feet inches from Paul's head. He was snoring softly. On the opposite end of the couch, George's seat was empty. I looked around for him, wondering where he had gone. Hearing a loud snore coming from in front of the chair, I found him stretched out on the floor. I wondered if he had gotten off the chair himself or fallen off. Everyone was asleep.

Trying not to disturb John, I gently pushed his head off of my own, letting it slowly roll back to lean against the bookcase. Then, I moved his arm off of my shoulder and got up, tilting my neck sideways with a crack. I stretched. My stretch managed to bring the darkness over my sight, making me feel dizzy and disoriented. After a moment, it began to fade away. I blinked, helping bring my sight back.

I was facing the couch, where Paul had opened his eyes and was looking at me with concern. He still had an arm around EC and was resting his head on her shoulder, but he mouthed "are you okay?" at me. I nodded and gave what I hoped to be a reassuring smile. He seemed satisfied with my answer, so I walked up to the VCR and took out the tape. I placed it back in its case and put the case in the cabinet, not bothering to rewind the movie. I turned off the VCR and grabbed the TV remote. I handed it to Paul, not caring what we watched. Then, I sat back down next to John, who was still asleep, whistling through his nose. As I leaned back against him, he began to stir.

"I didn't mean to wake you," I whispered apologetically.

"I wouldn't wanna wake up to anything else," he replied sleepily. I hoped he didn't notice the blush spreading over my face.

Paul certainly noticed, but he just sent a good-humored wink in my direction, then pulled EC closer.

" 'ey," John whispered urgently, "I just had a thought. You're not… seeing anyone, are ye?"

My blush deepened. "No, I'm not," I whispered back. I paused, unsure if I wanted to voice my next thought. It sounded cheesy to my own mind. But I decided I didn't care, and said it anyways. "But I am looking at you."

John chuckled, then asked, "How'd ye like to stay with me for a while? Be my girl? You're a pretty bird and I'd like to get to know you more."

My heart leaped in joy as my mind wondered how I'd fallen in love with the man I hated only two days before. I was more happy than I'd ever been before.

"I'd love to," I found myself saying, then I let out a chuckle of my own, "But how about _you_ stay here with _me_, so we can meet in an actual house."

John laughed quietly, disturbing George's sleep.

"Oi!" George grumbled, "Can't a bloke get a good rest around here?"

"Apparently not," Ringo mumbled from his spot on the couch as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Well, now that we're all up," Paul said, watching EC sit up and stretch with a look of longing and affection.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I've never had such a nice nap," EC said with a satisfied look on her face.

I realized the same was true for me. It was nice, napping in the arms of a guy.

"Well," Ringo said, painfully aware that two of band mates and closest friends had a girl in their arms while he was alone, "What are we supposed to do now?

We can't just sit on this couch and watch lions for the rest of our lives."

I exchanged a glance with EC. Her eyes seemed to say the same thing as my thoughts: what _do_we do?

"George sat up, also uncomfortably aware that he did not have a girl, "I don't suppose Rings and I could go out and pick up a couple birds, can we?"

John laughed, not unkindly, "It looks like the couch is full, so probably not."

George sighed, "Thought not."

"We should probably focus on more important things anyways. Like finding a place for you guys to stay more permanently," I said, then grinned, "Unless you like coming out of the closet each morning!"

EC snorted and tried to hide her laughter. The joke was lost on the Beatles, though.

"What's so funny about coming out of the closet?" John asked, disappointed that he couldn't join in the joke.

I laughed again. "Tell you later," I promised.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Living Arrangements**

We decided that Paul could continue to stay at EC's house, hidden from her parents. John could do the same at my house, while George and Ringo would have to rent an apartment that we could all help pay for.

"I'm sorry, guys," I told them, "But there's no way I could keep you all hidden in my house, and EC doesn't have the space, either. We'll find you a decent place to stay, though," I promised.

"And ye can meet up with us everyday," John encouraged.

We were looking for places for them on my mom's laptop in my backyard. The sun felt great on my head and even better on my back. John was smooshed next to me on the chair, sharing the laptop. If he were any closer, he'd be on top of me, but I didn't mind.

Paul and EC were sitting on my brother's swing set, having what I assumed to be a deep conversation. They both looked as content as could be, although Paul looked rather warm in his long, black pants and white long-sleeved shirt.

Ringo also looked warm, but a lot grumpier than Paul. He was sitting on the only chair in the shade, arms crossed. The day was not going as well for him as it was for Paul and John.

George was picking an apple off of our apple tree. I hadn't noticed him take his shirt off, but there he stood without it. He was nothing more than skin and bones, it seemed. I couldn't imagine hugging someone like that and was grateful all over again for John.

" 'ey, what about these?" John asked, pointing at a website for Minne-Acres Apartments on the laptop. I clicked it, noting that Golden Birch Avenue was not too far away from here.

"Not bad," I said, skimming through the information, "One bedroom, one bath, a kitchen with a fridge, small living room… And the price is more than fair."

"I bet there's roaches everywhere," Ringo grumbled.

"That's a fair price?" John asked.

"Well, I suppose prices have inflated a bit in fifty years," I said, "so, I take it you can't afford this."

"Well, we didn't bring this much money," John said, pointing at the apartment rent price.

I sighed and clicked the back button. "Alright, then, where have you guys been staying for the past five days?"

Ringo was silent. I twisted to look at John, our faces maybe an inch apart.

"Wal-mart," he said, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.

"…Wal-mart?" I asked in disbelief.

"Wal-mart. You see, it's that big store just up the road," he explained, "The one that seems to attract all the weird people…"

I laughed at how true that was, then said, "Yes, I know what Wal-mart is, but you were staying there?"

"Oi, didn't he just say that?" Ringo asked.

"Yes, Ringo, he did. I guess what I'm trying to ask is how did you manage to stay there?" I asked, choosing my words carefully as I fought to stay calm. Ringo was great fun when he wanted to be, but I didn't like this new grumpy Ringo.

"Well, we walked in the front door," John said. When I was silent, expecting more of an explanation, he went on, "We found an aisle with a bunch of blankets and pillows. So we slept there. It wasn't half bed."

"And… Nobody cared?" I asked in amazement.

"Guess not. But they did make us pay for the food we ate," he said regretfully.

The laptop on my legs was getting annoyingly hot, so I turned it off and set it on the ground. John's arms were sticky in the heat where his sleeves were rolled up, and my whole side, pressed against his, was hot and sweaty, too. I squeezed off of the chair, struggling to get free, then walked over to EC and Paul on the swings.

"Hey," I said, letting them know I was there so they didn't think I was eavesdropping.

"Oh, hey," EC replied, dragging her gaze away from Paul, "Find a place for George and Rings?" I realized she was beginning to sound faintly like the Beatles. Her Minnesotan accent was taking on a British edge.

"No," I informed her, "But I think we need to take everyone clothes shopping."

"…What?" EC asked, once again not following my train of thought. I'll admit it can be hard to follow at times.

"Well, look at 'em," I told her, "They need cooler clothes. It's eighty degrees out here and they're in black pants and long sleeve shirts! Well, most are anyways," I flicked my glance to George, munching an apple while sitting in the middle of the yard, "I'd love to offer them my shorts, but I have a feeling they'd look ridiculous, if they even fit."

"Oh, I see," EC agreed, following my thoughts this time, "But who's going to pay for them? We all need to keep our money for George and Ringo's rent."

"And what happens when our money runs out?" I asked, wondering what would happen then. I now had a dilemma to solve and the answer was obvious, at least in my own mind.

"EC, we're gonna need to get jobs… All of us."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Lessons**

"What?" John asked in disbelief, "We can't get jobs, we're not even American! Hell, we're not even part of this decade!"

"Besides," Paul added, "We _are_a band."

"Yeah, so are EC and I," I replied, "Sort of… But you guys don't even have instruments!"

"You're in a band?" Paul repeated, looking at EC. EC nodded.

"Well, I could borrow your acoustic," John said with a wink to me.

I was hesitant to let anyone else play my guitar, even if they were part of a famous band. Or what used to be a famous band, anyways. "I don't think that would work. Wouldn't you need drums for a band? I don't have any of those lying around."

"I would need a drum set if we were to start playing again," Ringo said, then looked at me, "But what kind of job do you expect us to get? I'm sure not going to clean toilets!"

I had to admit, that would be a terrible job. "No, we'll try to find something a little better."

"Well, do we really _need _to find a job?" Ringo asked, passing his gaze from face to face.

John looked at me, the same question in his eyes. Paul was looking at EC. George was looking at John for an answer. None of them seemed to really want an occupation, and I didn't blame them.

"We probably should…" I ventured, not really liking the idea. EC nodded sadly.

"What type of job are we getting, then?" Ringo asked.

I bit my lip and tried to come up with something quick.

"She doesn't have all the answers, does she? Bugger off," John told him. I was grateful to him for defending me, but also a bit angry at myself that I needed defending. I hated showing weakness. I'd rather show only my strengths.

"Strengths!" I exclaimed happily, "John, your strength is your guitar. What if you taught lessons? You could teach them in my house, we'd just have to advertise and wait for someone to sign up."

"And what about the rest of us?" Ringo asked.

"Paul, you could teach bass!" EC said, then thought, "Or piano, or guitar, or-"

"Right!" I interrupted, not sure how long her list was going to go on, "And George and Ringo can teach lessons, too! Except, Ringo may have to go to other people's houses that already have a drum set…"

"Hey, that could work," Paul said, warming up to the idea.

"Yeah," George agreed, "I could probably teach guitar."

Even Ringo, who was still not having a good day it seemed, agreed with a smile.

"Well," I said, nodding, "Now that that's figured out, let's make some flyers!" I was being overly happy on purpose. I booted up the computer, but was not sure how to continue in flyer-making from there…

"Hand it here," EC said, noticing my hesitation. I handed the laptop to her, knowing she was far better with computers, and any electronic, than I was. "How should the to-be-students get in touch with the Beatles?" she asked.

I thought about it for a moment. "Well, just put down my cell for now. I'll play secretary."

John, George, and Ringo stood behind EC, watching in amazement as she did her thing in a flurry of clicks and mouse-motions. I felt a small prod on my shoulder.

"Mooncow?" Paul asked as I turned to face him, "Can I talk to you? It'll only take a moment."

"Err, yeah, sure," I said, following him around the corner of the house.

"It's about John," he began. I gave him a confused look as he continued, "Specifically, John teaching guitar lessons. I don't think it'll work out."

I stared at him. "And… why is that?" I questioned.

"Well, you know Johnnie. He's not the most patient person. Or easy to get along with. I don't think he'd be a good guitar instructor, is all."

I laughed quietly, knowing full well how hard it could be to get along with John sometimes. He was a sweet guy, but he had an outer shell that clashed with most people. "Alright, so we won't let him teach guitar to anyone. He can get a job at a restaurant or something," I said, feeling excited. I was going to have to get a job to help these guys, too, and I could barely play an instrument, let only teach it. If John and I both had to go out there and get a job, perhaps we could find one together. There was a fluttering in my chest as I thought of spending all day, every weekday with him.

"I'll leave the convincing John part up to you," Paul told me with a smile that suggested he knew what was on my mind.

"No problem," I replied as Paul slipped back around the corner and joined the others in watching EC make flyers. I followed, amazed at how far she'd gotten on Ringo's drum lesson flyer already. It looked nearly professional.

I stood next to John, then leaned over towards his ear. "Hey," I whispered. He jumped a little, then turned his caramel brown eyes towards me. I felt a shiver of joy creep down my spine and realized I had actually fallen in love with this guy. "Let's go for a walk."

John smiled. "Sounds good," he said, grabbing my hand. I walked with him out of my yard, waving towards EC as she looked up for a brief second.

"So, where are we going?" John asked quietly, pulling me closer. I wished I didn't actually have anywhere to go. I wanted to stay in this moment for the rest of my life.

"Well, I kind of needed to talk to about that," I said, hating myself for ruining the moment, "You see, I have to get a job, too… And I don't want to be there alone, so I was wondering if maybe you'd find one with me?"

John hesitated; probably as disappointed as I was that the romantic moment was interrupted. "Sure, love," he said, finally, "I'll get a job with you. I wasn't quite sure about teaching guitar, anyways. Never learned how to sight-read, you see."

I smiled and hugged him, murmuring a thank you in his ear. He gave me a quick kiss, surprising us both. A moment later, we pulled apart, merely holding hands again. I walked with him down the road, feeling on top of the world.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: The Interview**

Walking into the Culver's fast food restaurant with John, I brought my thoughts back to the present, trying not to let them fly out to other subjects at every moment that John held my hand. I had barely noticed that there was a help wanted sign outside with my thoughts preoccupied as they were.

"Wow," John said quietly, looking at the huge menu plastered across the wall, "Hungry?"

I chuckled quietly, realizing how ridiculous the menu really was. Ten different burgers? It was a little over-the-top when I thought about it.

"Can I help you?" a teenage boy behind the counter asked us. His orange hair was flying out in odd directions from beneath his employee hat and his small olive green eyes darted about the room.

"Yes, actually," I said, taking a step towards the counter, "We saw a 'Help Wanted' sign outside-"

"And you want a job," he finished for me, a bit rudely. Then he winked suggestively, making me want to puke. His wink wasn't a friendly one, like Paul's, but rather a creepy sort of flirt. I stiffened and John, sensing my uneasiness, put his arm around me protectively. Gratefully, I leaned into him, shooting a look at the Culver's employee.

"Yes, we'd like to apply for a job," I said, trying to keep the bitter acid out of my voice. He had a small scowl on his face as he looked at John.

"Wait," he asked, as I noticed his nametag. It said his name was Mic. "You both want a job here? I don't know if that'll work…" He sent a quick glance to John.

"That doesn't work and I don't work," John replied, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

Mic was taken aback by the thick British accent. His eyes widened considerably and he didn't seem to know how to respond. I was pleased by his inability to speak or flirt.

"Can we talk to the manager or something?" I asked after a pause. Then a thought crossed my mind. If we were to work here, we'd have to work with this idiot. It was not a pleasant thought, but I would have to suck it up to help the Beatles.

The manager must have heard his job title, for he walked around the corner, a grim smile on his face. He probably assumed that he was going to have to calm a customer down or give out a free meal.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, looking from John to me to Mic.

"We just wanted a bloody job," John told him, "That's all."

"Oh!" the manager's face lit up into a real smile, losing the grim look, "Good, good! You're both applying?"

"That was the plan," I informed him.

"Great!" he said enthusiastically, "If you two will follow me, I can do an interview right now." He smiled, then walked out from behind the counter. John and I followed him to a table, where we all sat down. The interview began.

"First, let me get your names down."

"I'm John. And she goes by Mooncow," John said.

"Mooncow?" the manager repeated.

"It's not my real name, just a nickname," I said.

"Well, alright. So, how come you want to work here?"

John leaned closer to him and put his hands together. "How come you want us to work here?" I closed my eyes and mentally groaned. This was going to be a long interview.

The manager seemed taken aback, but turned to instead, a professional smile plastered on his face, "And you?"

"Honestly, I just need to make some money to help out a friend," I said, deciding I may as well be honest.

He wrote something down on his clipboard, then moved on in his heavy Minnesotan accent. "So, what's your work ethic?"

"Oh, I don't do anything ethically, but I can work," John said with a serious face.

"I'll do what's needed," I said, mentally smacking John in the head.

"Great," the manager said, cheerily. I couldn't tell if he was actually in a good mood or not, but I would have bet on the latter. "Now, I have some personal questions. Where are you from?"

"Pool of Liver," John responded instantly.

"This is my hometown."

"And do you have any handicaps that could prevent you from doing anything?" he asked after scribbling down more notes.

John raised an eyebrow. "Handicaps? Do I look like cripple to you?" He made a derp face.

"No, neither of us do, unless you count his inability to answer interview questions," I said.

"Unfortunately, that's not a handicap. Well, if you'll let me look at your ID's, I can finish up this interview," he said, still smiling, although I could see it was a strain. John seemed to have that effect on people…

"ID's?" I repeated. I was thinking how stupid I was to bring John here. He didn't have an ID, why would he? He was part of a famous band years and years ago. Everyone used to know him. "Err, I left mine at home, I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's alright, why don'tcha go back and get it, then show it to me later. I suppose you didn't bring yours either, didcha?" he asked John. John, to my relief, just shook his head, saying, "No sir."

I got up and shook the manager's outstretched hand. John did the same, then we left. As soon as we got back outside I looked at him.

"The Pool of Liver?"

John smiled, "Of course. You know, Liverpool."

"Yeah, I got that," I said sternly. Then I gave up trying to scold him and laughed, "It was pretty clever, I'll give you that."

He smiled and reached for my hand again. I melted, wondering if I would ever be used to this.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: The Homeless Man's Plan**

John and I were halfway back to my house when it happened. I felt a little prickle as the hairs on my neck stood up for no apparent reason. I felt like I was being watched.

"Something wrong, love?" John asked.

I hesitated, then said, "Call me paranoid, but I think we're being watched."

"You're paranoid," he replied obediently, but looked around. I did the same. To our left was a small cornfield, one of the few reminders that this used to be a farming town. The cornstalks were nearly as tall as John and I. To the other side of us was a mostly deserted road, where only a few people were driving in their cars, and beyond that was a gas station. There was nobody in sight, which, instead of making me feel better, made me feel even more uneasy.

"You're right, I'm paranoid," I decided.

But John had stopped listening to me and was staring at the cornstalks intently.

"John?" I asked, a bit confused at his behavior, "John, it's corn. Not that exciting. John?"

"Hold on," he said, sticking his face in the cornfield and squinting into the distance, "I don't think ye're paranoid…" He suddenly leaped into the field. He ran farther into it as the corn stalks were pushed aside by him. Soon, I couldn't see him through all the corn, just the start of a trail he made.

"Umm, John?" I asked cautiously. There was no response except the faint rustle of corn stalks. I tried again, a little louder, "Johnnie?"

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?!" I heard John's voice, loud in the quiet street.

There was the sounds of a scuffle, then another voice. This one was definitely another guy, but the voice was higher and had a very faint southern drawl. "Ow, ow, ow! Alright, alright, you win! You win!"

There was more rustling, then John burst out of the field, dragging what looked to be a homeless man behind him.

"Well?" John demanded, facing the man. John's white shirt was decorated with small blood patterns, some of it probably from his bleeding lip. He seemed to have lost the glasses I lent him. I had no doubt there was blood from the other guy there, too.

The homeless man looked much worse than John. His right eye was swollen and had begun to turn an ugly purple already. His lip was split and was bleeding, and his nose looked broken. He had to have been at least 10 years older than John, with a shaggy beard and hair to his shoulders. His clothes looked more ragged than he was, with various colors of fabric patched on the original faded shirt and jeans. He had a small rugged backpack that may have been blue once, but it was now a dull and dirty brown.

"You can let go of me now," the man said, a lot more cheerfully than I thought he would have reacted. He looked very content, and only his bruised and bloodied face let on that he had just been in a fight.

"John?" I hissed, "What the bloody-," I paused, realizing I had picked up on John's speech pattern, "What the hell is going on?"

"Ask him," John grumbled. He was probably hoping I was going to treat him like a hero for beating up this homeless man.

"Alright, don't let go then," the man said calmly, "It'd be easier for me to explain if I were free, but no matter. You two may want to listen up, I don't intend on repeating myself. I just wanted to make sure you two were the kind of quality people I needed before I offered you the job."

"…What?" I asked, completely baffled by what he was trying to say, "Two questions: How does stalking us help, and what job?"

"Well, the job I'm going to offer you, of course!" he said with a grin.

"And so you stalked us…" John added.

"Well, yes. To be sure you had the characteristics needed to take on the job position I have for you. When I saw that you were looking for a job, at Culver's of all places, I saw determination. The fact that you walked to your interview tells me you're not overly concerned about your image. Your glasses, young man, tell me the same," He pulled my glasses out of his bag and gave them back to John, "I figured I better save these for you. And your old-fashioned dress clothing just leaves a good impression!"

"That's great," I said drily, feeling a little self-conscious, "But you haven't told us about this 'fantastic job' we're qualified for."

"Hold on, I wasn't finished," the homeless man continued, "When you left Culver's without showing your ID's, I knew you had something to hide."

"Well, wait now-," John began. He looked at me, and the look in his caramel-coated eyes said my exact thought: crap, we're in trouble now.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, this is a good thing for me. When you have something to hide, it means you can be trusted with secrets. And this job is one you'll have to keep to yourselves."

"Alright, stop avoiding the main question here: what is this job?" John demanded, an angry fire in his eyes.

"I was getting to that!" the man said, raising his voice for the first time, "Come by this address tonight at, oh, let's say eight o'clock. I'm glad to see you two seem to have a good grip on reality. Or as good a grip as one can have at such a young age." He dug through his backpack and pulled out a pen and paper. They looked surprisingly clean. He scribbled out an address, then handed the paper to us. "Eight o'clock, alright? I'll give you a good job, one you don't want to miss out an. Good pay, too."

"No offense," John said, "but you look like you can't even afford a decent shirt, how are ye gonna pay us?"

The man laughed. "Don't you worry about that," he said, then pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket. He handed it to me. "Here's a little gift. I can pay you more than that when you accept my job offer. See you later!" He stepped back into the cornfield and disappeared from our view.

"When we take the job offer?" I asked, wondering if the man really believed we would accept his job.

"Cocky, innit he?" John agreed.

We walked back to my house, eager to tell the others about the homeless man's offer, and the twenty dollars we had received in advance.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: The Fluff Chapter**

"How're the flyers coming?" I asked, walking into my backyard. I stopped and looked around.

"Who did you think you were talking to?" John teased as we looked into the empty yard.

I smiled, then went to the sliding glass door. It didn't budge when I tugged on it. Thinking it might just be stuck, as it often was, I tried again. Still nothing.

"I think it may be locked, love," John stated the obvious.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Anytime, Commander Clueless."

I stuck out my tongue at him. He grinned and opened his arms wide, ready to give me a bear hug.

"Nooo!" I mock-screamed, then ran away, beaming. I could hear John running behind me, close at first, but as I zigzagged between trees, his breathing became heavier and farther away. I looked back to see him slowing down, then stopping, hands on knees. Slightly worried, I stopped.

"You ok?" I called out. He put up a finger, motioning for me to hold on a second as he caught his breath. I jogged over to him. "John, are you ok?"

With a huge smile, he wrapped his arms around me quickly, nearly knocking me over in the process. "I'm fine, but you are trapped until I get a kiss!"

I laughed. "You dirty con-man! And I thought I was gonna have to give you CPR or something!"

"CPR, eh? If playing dead will get me my kiss, I will!"

I laughed quietly, then replied, "I don't think that's necessary." I then proceeded to give him a kiss on his cheek. He turned his head at the last second, and I found I was kissing his lips. I widened my eyes in surprise and began to pull away, but then decided otherwise and just went with it. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed his kiss.

"Fine, I'll go out-" I heard Ringo's voice, seemingly from a distant dream, "Bloody hell, is there no decent place to go anymore?!"

John and I broke apart. I realized we were both gasping for air; breathing had seemed so unimportant a couple seconds ago. I gave John a shy smile, aware that he had stolen my first real kiss from me. John returned the smile.

"Honestly, everywhere I turn, there's people sucking each others faces off," grumbled Ringo.

"You never seemed to mind 'sucking people's faces off' before, Rings," John replied, a faraway look in his eyes. I was certain the same look was in my eyes as I relieved the kiss.

"Well, yeah! But that's different."

The sliding glass door opened and Paul poked his head out. " 'ey, Rings, you can come back in now. That really wasn't too decent of you to storm out like that." Paul seemed to notice John and me, both of us grinning moronically. He laughed, then said, "If you two are quite finished, you can come in, you know." He winked, then pulled his head back inside and closed the door behind him.

I looked at John, about to ask or tell him something, but I lost the thought as I gazed at his face. His adorably small smile that lit up his whole face. His hooked nose, the kind of nose that captivated my attention. Eyes that seemed glazed with caramel, a color of brown that I adored. Even his hair was perfection in my eyes, although I had always gone for blonder hair before I met John.

I realized John was staring at me, too. His eyes slowly moved over my face. I blushed, wondering what he was seeing, what he liked and disliked about me.

I heard a snort of disgust, then the glass door slammed shut. That brought my attention away from John for just a moment, but it was enough to be able to move again. The loud slam seemed to have the same effect on John.

"Well, shall we?" he asked, putting one arm around my waist and gesturing to the house with the other. I nodded and put my arm around his back. We walked to the house as if floating on a cloud.

When I walked in the door, followed by John, I noticed EC and Paul curled up, sitting on the couch. EC was staring into Paul's eyes, mesmerized by his hazel gaze. Paul was doing the same to her, and I realized their eyes were nearly the same shade of hazel.

George walked in the room from upstairs, holding a sandwich. He looked first at Ringo, who was sulking in his spot on the couch. George then looked at Paul and EC, and John and me.

"Did I miss something?" he asked. We laughed.

"No, George, don't worry. It doesn't concern you, mate," John said, patting him on the back with the hand that wasn't holding mine.

I suddenly remembered what had been so exciting before John kissed me, effectively slowing away most of brain function.

"Hey, guys," I started, pulling the twenty out of my pocket. They all stared at it in amazement. "Bet you'll never guess how John and I got this money."

"Bloody hell, you mugged some poor woman, didn't you?" Paul said.

"Watch it McCartney, " John said good-humoredly. He then told them our story with the mysterious homeless man. I watched as four pairs of eyes listened with deepening interest. They all widened their eyes at the same times, which I found amusing, and they were enthralled by John's retelling. When he was done, there was a thoughtful silence for a few seconds.

"Creepy," EC said, "We should call the cops on him." The look on either my or John's face must have alarmed her, because she added, "Wait, you're not actually considering this, are you?"

I looked up at John for confirmation. He gave a small shrug. "I don't know, we might," I said uncertainly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Paul said, "You can't be serious. You're going to take some random hobo's offer, not caring what he could do to you?"

"Paul, if he were planning on doing something to us, don't you think he would have a good chance earlier today?" John said, "And nobody said we were going to accept, just go see what it was all about."

And with that, John and I decided we were going no matter what. Apparently, we both had a stubborn side that didn't like to be told what to do.

"Anyways," I said, disrupting the argument, "How're the flyers coming?"

"Oh, they're sitting by your printer. I made ten for each person, not including John," EC said, "I wasn't sure how many he wanted."

"Oh, I don't need any," John told her, "I won't be teaching guitar. Unless Mooncow wants a lesson, in which case any little bit will help."

I smacked him good-humoredly. I knew he was only poking fun at my lousy guitar skills.

"So, you're going to take the hobo's job instead?" EC asked, unknowingly beginning another round or arguing.

Many arguments later, I checked my watch. It was six o'clock.

"Alright guys, let's stop arguing and find something to eat," I said, grateful my parents were at their high school friend's wedding. They had decided against bringing me, because of all the alcohol, and my brother was staying at a friend's house for the night. If my luck held out, they'd be gone all night.

"Let's order pizza," EC suggested. I was tempted to agree with her, but I knew that would cost us the twenty dollars we were given.

"Let me look in our freezer, we may have a couple frozen pizzas that we can heat up."

There were, in fact, three frozen pizzas. Looking at their less-than-large size, I hoped they would be enough.

EC turned on the oven and we waited for it to heat up, chattering about unimportant little things, like the neighbor's dog and what color the paint on the wall really was.

"Isn't it done yet?" John complained, holding his stomach, "I'm starved!"

"It's not even in the oven," I told him as the oven beeped telling us it was finally preheated. I put the pizzas in the oven, making them all fit. "Fifteen minutes," I promised him.

John moaned in mock-pain. Laughing, I opened the cupboard and threw a box of fruit snacks at him.

Opening it, he inspected a fruit snack. "What is this? It looks like a bloody caterpillar!" Ringo took it from his hand and popped it in his mouth. "Tastes like one, too," he said with a grimace. He grabbed another one from the box and ate that one, too.

"Second one any better?" laughed Paul.

"Oh, yes, this one tastes like caterpillar dipped in sugar," Ringo replied.

"Mmm, lovely," I said with a laugh as I grabbed a couple of fruit snacks. As I ate one, I couldn't get the image of a caterpillar rolling around in sugar out of my head, making the gooey snack taste terrible. I made a face and put the others back in the box. "Not as good as I remember. Caterpillars must be too old now."

The others laughed.

I still had a bad taste in my mouth, so I opened the fridge and looked at what we had to drink.

"Hey, you guys want anything?" I asked, selecting a strawberry soda for myself.

"Ooh, I'll have one of those!" EC said, nearly drooling. I laughed and passed it to her.

"Yeah, give me one, too," John said, staring at the can with curiosity as EC began to gratefully drink the sticky pink liquid.

There was a small chorus of "me, too" from the others. I grabbed a strawberry soda for everyone, then sat down to wait for the pizza.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Gooseberry Street**

"Pizza and strawberry soda… There could be nothing better!"

EC was waving her can of soda around in an imitation of a drunkard. This set off yet another round of laughter. It had been that way all throughout dinner as we stuffed ourselves with pizza. Now we were all staring at three empty cardboard circles where the pizza used to be.

Ringo stretched and yawned, then put his feet up on the table. I resisted the urge to tell him not to. It was nice to finally see him in a good mood.

John and Paul were having a heated debate quietly. I vaguely wondered what they were arguing about, then decided it was probably unimportant.

George was sitting in his chair, looking content and at peace with the world. I felt the same way.

As I checked the time, purely out of habit, I was pulled out of my peaceful feeling and reminded that I had to be somewhere that night. It was 7:30.

"John," I said, jumping up out of my chair, "Ready to go?"

He turned away from Paul and got up, but Paul grabbed his arm and nearly pulled him back down.

"Wait," Paul insisted, "Are you sure you should go?"

John put his hand on Paul's head. "I think I'm pretty sure about this one, mate." Paul ducked his head to escape John's hand, but it failed. "What could happen?" John asked lightly. He pulled out of Paul's grip, with his hand still resting on top of Paul's dark hair. Paul ducked away again, nearly falling off his chair, and John let go.

"What could happen?" EC repeated, then answered herself, "A whole lot, that's what! Just forget about the creepy homeless man, okay?"

"Sorry," I replied, grabbing my tennis shoes and a jacket, "I think our minds have been made up. Relax, we can take on this guy if anything goes wrong, which it won't."

John agreed as he put his own shoes and jacket on. I made a mental note that they still needed new clothes to change into.

"I don't know, I still think you should play it safe and stay away from the guy," Paul said in a worried tone.

I grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket. "See this? If anything goes wrong, I can call the police with three easy numbers. It's ok," I assured him. With a look at EC's unconvinced face, I repeated myself, "It's all good."

I grabbed my baseball cap and pulled my ponytail through the back. John grabbed a hat off his own and pulled it on, then we walked out the door. I couldn't help thinking how good he looked in that hat.

"Penny for your thoughts, love?" he said, noticing my gaze. I smiled and refused. "Don't make me torture you for it!"

"Ha, torture?" I scoffed, then grinned, "Do your worst!"

I got on my bike as he got a mischievous grin on his face.

"My worst, eh?" he repeated with a thoughtful look.

"Well, you'll have to catch me first," I warned him. As he reached out for me, I started pedaling, making a quick getaway in the direction of Gooseberry Street, the address that the man had written down. I quickly glanced back and saw John getting on his bike and pedaling as fast as he could after me. I let out a wild, exhilarated laugh and pedaled faster, making dangerous turns around corners as my speed rose. I heard a maniacal laugh and turned back to see John with a grin on his face, matching my insane speed. Breathing hard, but feeling so free, I kept going.

At the intersection on Main Street, I was forced to come to a screeching halt. Traffic was bad and I didn't think my little bike could ever win against a car going twice as fast as me. Brakes squealing, I stopped and pushed the button for the crosswalk. John pulled up next to me in the same fashion a second later.

"That was a ride to remember," he commented, eyes wild with excitement. Too late, I realized he had not worn glasses, so there was no way he could have seen much on that bike ride. I suddenly wanted to take my contacts out and see the world as fuzzy little blobs of color, but I resisted the urge, figuring one of us should be able to see what's ahead.

"We're almost there," I told John, calculating where Gooseberry Street was from here. It had to be no more than ten minutes away from where we were.

"Almost, eh?" John let out a breath. "Well, would you mind going a bit slower this time? Some of us were born in 1940. Does that make me 70 years old now?"

I thought about it. "Well, I suppose if you didn't even live 50 of those years, it doesn't count… At least, that's what I think. But I'd agree; we're slowing down." I had been planning on reducing the pace. After the rush, the adrenaline, wore off, my calves began to complain.

"Ta, love," he replied.

The lights changed and the walk signal came on. I pushed on the bike's pedal, grimacing at my leg's soreness. I kept going, thinking it was going to be a long ten minutes.

John rode up beside me. He reached out a hand. I smiled and grabbed it with my own hand, instantly forgetting all about the pain.

"John, I never asked, although you asked me. Did you have a girlfriend back home?" I asked a little nervously.

"Nah, she broke it off a few months back. Well, I guess it's years ago, now," he replied with a sad look in his eyes. He brightened up, then added, "But I believe I have one in my new home."

I blushed and squeezed his hand, wishing it was possible to hug while biking. Or kiss.

"Well, what blokes have I got to live up to?" John asked, inquiring of my past in dating.

"Well," I replied with an embarrassed laugh, "I haven't really dated anyone before…"

John looked over at me, surprise written all over his face. "A bird like you?" he paused, then seemed to understand something. His face relaxed. "Ah, you denied 'em, then. Well, I'm honored to be accepted! Not that you would have ever denied me."

"Oh, never, John," I assured him with a laugh," But I never actually had a chance to deny anyone before… Nobody asked."

"Their loss, my gain," John replied, making me smile. I thought about how lucky I was.

We fell silent for a while, still holding hands.

All too soon, we turned onto Gooseberry Street.

"Well, almost there," I told John, "Keep an eye out for house number 4821." I remembered he probably couldn't see the house numbers, but decided not to mention it.

"Wow, these houses are huge!" John exclaimed. He was right. This was definitely a high-end neighborhood.

"Oh, I hope we don't end up at that pink one," I said, referring to a bright pink house complete with a pink sidewalk and lavender fence.

"Or that orange one!" John added, looking across the street from the pink house. The house was the worst shade of orange that reminded me of vomit. In the yard stood an oddly shaped tree, trimmed badly.

"Oh good, it's not either of those. Maybe that white one?" I said hopefully. The house was white with gray shutters and a white picket fence. It was easily the nicest house on the street. As we passed, I looked at the house number hopefully. "Nope, not that one, either."

I grew more and more doubtful as we neared the end of the street. None of the houses were the one we were looking for, it seemed.

"Maybe that man was bluffing, after all," suggested John.

I was about to agree when I saw it. At the very end of the street was a driveway lined with trees. They weren't neat, in-a-row trees, but rather a small forest through the whole yard. The mailbox read "4821." I tried to look at the house, but the excessive amount of trees blocked all of it except for a dark roof, black as night in the summer sunset.

"Maybe he wasn't," John corrected himself after squinting at the mailbox.

"Well, here we are," I said, letting go of John's hand and getting off my bike. John did the same and we walked the bikes up the driveway.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: The House of Madness**

When the house came into view, I had to stop and gawk at it. It was painted a dark blue, darkened more by the fading light. The door and shutters were a contrasting pale yellow. As unique as that looked, what really caught my attention was the car sitting in front of the garage. It was an average sized car, but the huge house dwarfed it to look like a tiny clown car. Not that any clown would be in that car. Instead of being bright and goofy, it was painted a dark blue, similar to the house's shade. Painted in a surprisingly realistic way was a whole mess of little white and yellow dots that came together to form galaxies. It looked like the whole universe was painted on that little car.

"Ah, so you decided to show up after all. Five minutes late, I'm a bit disappointed," a vaguely familiar voice said. I snapped my gaze away from the car and towards the house. Our friend, the homeless man, stood in the doorway. He was no longer wearing rags, but had on an expensive-looking suit. And his slight southern accent had been replaced by a slight British one.

"You're wearing a suit," John said matter-of-factly.

"Very observant. Well, come in, come in, don't just stand there," the not-so-homeless man said, holding the door open for us.

I looked at John, shrugged, then walked towards the door.

"Whoa," I couldn't help saying as I walked inside. The floor was a black and white checkerboard tile that was almost too much to look at. There were two large staircases that led to a little balcony-type hallway that surrounded the entry room. Along this hallway was dozens of doors. There was another, larger door, between the two staircases on the first level. Pictures hung all over. There were pictures of people, probably this man's ancestors, but there were also pictures of optical illusions that made my eyes hurt.

"Welcome to my home, and your new job!" the man said, "First off, my name is Marden Richards."

"I don't recall accepting any job," John mused.

"Ah, but you will, I guarantee it!"

That was, of course, the wrong thing for him to say. I didn't take too well to be doing told what to do. By the look on John's face, I could tell he didn't either.

"Well, this was fun, but I think I'm leaving. Why don't you offer this job to some other idiot off the street?" I said, turning to leave. The bright contrast of the floor and the pictures were hurting my eyes and it was nice to look away.

"No, wait," Marden Richards said calmly, "I believe you'll want to see this. Or at least the pay. Unless you think you can't handle the job. And perhaps you can't."

I winced, knowing he hit my weak spot. I now had to prove that I could do anything, because weakness was not an option. I grumbled something, then said, "Fine. What's the job?"

"Well, it's in this house. And the pay is great. What do you say to thirty dollars a day each?"

"I say I want to know what I'm doing to get these thirty dollars," John growled.

"Well, I'll be leaving during the day to," he paused, then said with emphasis, "_work_. So you'll be here, watching my cat and my dogs, they do get lonely when I'm gone, and just keeping the place tidy."

"So we're gonna be your housekeepers?" I said, without much enthusiasm. John looked disappointed, too.

"In a way, I suppose," Mr. Richards said.

"Well, I don't think it's the kind of job we're looking for," I said politely.

"Oh? And what job do you expect to get? No ID's, it could be a minor issue when applying for a job. Besides, it'll only be for a couple hours each day and you do need the money, I think."

I groaned and looked at John. This guy had us all figured out, it seemed. John was looking at me. I shrugged, letting him know it was his call. If he wanted the job, we'd take it. Otherwise, I was out of there.

With a loud sigh, John said, "Fine. We'll take it. Just don't expect me to like it."

"That's fantastic! Well, come over here around, oh, let's say nine tomorrow morning, and then you can get started. Would you like to meet the pets now?"

I gave him a no-duh look.

"Chancey! Lewis! Arnold!" he called. As I snickered at the name choice, I heard the clicking of claws flying across the tile. There was some noticeable excited panting, too.

"Good boys!" Marden Richards cooed as two dogs raced towards him. One was an Airedale Terrier, while the other looked to be a lightly colored Chesapeake Bay Retriever. They ran up to Mr. Richards, and I thought for sure they would knock him over (I was kind of hoping for it, actually), but they skidded to a stop next to him, wagging their tails and staring into his face. He ignored them and looked around the room.

I couldn't help it. Dogs make me melt, so I let out a small squeak and bent down to pet the dogs. "Cute!"

John shook his head in disbelief. "How come I don't get that reaction from you?"

I straightened up and looked at him. "Cute!" I said, then pet his hair. He grinned, making me laugh.

"Lewis?" the man called out, "LEWIS! Get over here, right now, Lewis! LEWIS, COME!"

I stared at him with concern for the sanity of my new boss, then turned as I heard an indignant meow. A red Maine Coon cat walked slowly down the stairs, not a care in the world.

"Lewis, there you are. You certainly took your time," the man scolded, then turned to us, "Well, here they are. The Airedale here is Arnold. He's a ham. And the chessie here is Chancey. He's my regal little friend. This maniacal little cat is Lewis, as you probably gathered. Watch out for him, miss; he's a ladies' man. He also has a psychotic sense of humour."

"Erm… Good to know," I said as John's gaze turned to the cat. He narrowed his eyes, challenging the creature to take away his girl. The cat blinked calmly, then went to rub against my legs, making John glare even harder. I gently pushed Lewis away, then went over to pet Arnold. Lewis followed, purring like a motor.

John put his arm around me and began petting Arnold, too. Arnold loved the attention and showed it by licking John's face. He moved back, wiping his face with his sleeve. Chancey sat next to Arnold, looking like a doggie royal snob. Lewis, seeing John's arm around me, walked away with his tail twitching.

"Well, I see you two are going to be fine. I'll leave the cleaning supplies on the table through that door," Marden Richards said, pointing to the large door between the staircases, "So, see you tomorrow. Come, Arnold, Chancey, Lewis. Lewis…"

The two dogs followed him, but Lewis sat on the floor licking his paw.

"Well, see you at nine, then," I said. John and I let ourselves out the front door. We heard a very loud and angry "LEWIS!" as we walked out into the night.

"That was interesting…" John commented.

"That it was," I agreed, giving him a quick hug, "And we get to come back to the chaos tomorrow."

He returned the hug, then groaned. "I don't know about this job… Cleaning?"

I gave him a sympathetic look. "I know. But we'll get through it."

He gave a reply in the form of a grunt, and we got on our bikes. I thought about reaching for his hand again, but the darkness would provide enough trouble for biking without having only one hand to use.

I rode away, John at my side. The roads all looked different in the dark, but I managed to lead us back home anyways. I couldn't wait to collapse on the couch, curled up with John, preferably.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: Back Home**

"I dunno, I think they all went to bed," I told John, wincing at my accent slip-up. I had always picked up accents easily, much to embarrassment. I was trying to fight this accent, not willing to give up my Minnesota one. So far, I was losing the fight.

"Right, like those blokes would ever go to bed before midnight," John snorted.

We had pulled in to my driveway on our bikes to find all the lights off inside. It was only 9:30, so it was a bit weird that they would have gone to bed already.

I got off of my bike and punched in our garage code. As the door opened, I saw why the lights were off.

"Shit," I mumbled, wheeling my bike in the garage. John did the same with his, giving me a curious look.

"Gonna tell me what's on yer mind?" John asked.

I looked at him, then sighed, "Yeah. My parents. They're back." I pointed at their little black car parked in the garage.

"That's not good, is it?"

"Not at all. I hope the others had the sense to get out or hide…" I paused, wondering what I should do with John so my parents wouldn't see him.

"Well, why don't I wait by your window and you can let me in when it's safe. Sound good, love?" John suggested.

I gave him a grateful hug, then nodded. As he walked out of the garage and around to the side of the house, I cautiously opened the door to go inside.

"What are you doing?" said a sleep-filled voice. I heard our stairs' signature creak as my mom stepped on it. She looked tired, as if she was just in bed, enjoying sleep.

"I just got back," I replied, then paused, "Err, from Megan's." I kept it simple, knowing that I was going to over explain it if I said anymore.

"Oh…" she said, sleepily, "You do know it's past nine?"

"Yes, mom, I know. Curfew's at eleven, though," I reminded her.

She blinked wearily and nodded. "Tell us where you're going next time," she mumbled, then turned back up the stairs. I heard her yawn, then she disappeared into her bedroom. There was a sleepy question from my dad, then all was quiet. I slipped downstairs, wondering where the others had gone that my parents didn't see them.

I looked over the living room and found no sign of Ringo, George, Paul, or EC. I kept walking, headed down towards my room.

I looked around in the dark, and saw nothing. Flicking on the light, I looked again.

"Where'd they go?" I asked nobody in particular, then went to the window to let John in. As I was heading that way I heard a small noise like a cloth falling to the floor. I turned around to see the closet rustling.

"Who's in there?" I asked, torn between being nervous about who was in my closet and annoyed that someone was in my closet.

"Hold on a second," I heard a voice that was very familiar. Paul was obviously in there. I wondered if anyone was with him

"No, _this_ is your jacket, that one's Mooncow's sweater," I heard a feminine voice. EC was there, too.

"Ah, so it is. Ta," Paul said, then pushed the curtains aside and walked out grandly. EC followed, laughing at his act of grandeur.

" 'ey!" I heard a loud cry, followed by a tap on the window. I turned back to the window, and let John in. " 'bout time!" he said, slipping through the window.

I turned back to EC and Paul. Paul's hair was rather messy, and EC's didn't look much better. They were holding each other and grinning.

"Oh ho, Paulie!" John said, laughing, "What have you been doing with that bird?"

EC blushed slightly.

"Oh, come of it, John," Paul replied, "What have _you_ been doing with _that_ bird?"

"We got a job," John said proudly, "That's more than you can say."

They continued arguing. I looked at EC with concern. "You weren't…" I trailed off, knowing I was thinking the worst.

She looked at me with wide eyes, an expression of horror on her face. "No, no, no!" she assured me, "I would never. How could you think I would…? Even with him, I would never, not now…"

"Just making sure," I said defensively, "You know your parents would murder you if you did… that." I laughed, realizing how pathetic this conversation was.

"JOHN! You have such a bloody dirty mind!" Paul was saying with exasperation, "As if I would-"

"You know you wanted to," John said with a smirk. Paul smacked his arm.

"Alright," I said, ending their feud, "So, uh, Paul? Where's George and Ringo?"

"Oh, they went on the pull," he said with a small grin.

I looked at John. "You gonna translate British-English into American-English for me, please?" I asked. EC covered her face with her hand, embarrassed at my american-ness.

John looked at me, then realization seemed to dawn on him. "Oh, that's right, you Americans don't say that, do you? Well, it means they're out looking for birds, err, girls, that is."

"Got it," I replied, feeling stupid. EC gave me a look that confirmed this feeling.

"So, how was the creepy old guy's house?" EC asked after a slight pause.

"Oh, it was a blast," I replied sarcastically, then changed back to my normal voice, "That guy was weird… His pets were weird. His house was weird. His car was super weird. But the job offer was disappointingly normal…"

"We get to be maids," John said in a falsely excited voice. I had a mental image of John in an old-fashioned maid's uniform and giggled. I think Paul had the same image in his mind, because he was trying in vain to keep a straight face.

"Maids?" EC asked, "That's the job? You guys are going to clean some old guy's house?"

"Well, that's the plan, I suppose," John replied without much enthusiasm, "That guy's got some odd pets, though… I swear that cat's trying to steal me girl." He narrowed his eyes at the memory. I held back a laugh.

"Oh, Johnnie, you're paranoid," Paul told him.

"One of us has got to see the truth," John said, shrugging.

There was a tapping on the window. I sighed, expecting to see George and Ringo back from wherever they were. As I pulled open the shades, I was surprised to see someone else. Or rather, something else.

"Who is it?" asked John without much interest. He probably assumed it was George or Ringo, too.

"Uhm… I think it's Lewis…" I said. There was a cat sitting in my window well with red fur that looked very familiar.

"Lewis? The bloody cat?!" John darted over to the window and pressed against me for a better view. "Damn, the bloody thing followed us home…"

EC was standing on my bed, looking over our heads. "Aww, he's so cute! Can we let him in?"

"Yes, let's bring the psycho stalker cat in the house, fantastic idea," John replied. I kind of agreed. That cat gave me the creeps. Paul was standing on his toes behind John and me, trying to get a look at the cat. "He doesn't look that bad, John."

"Sure, he doesn't. Not to you. He's not making eyes at your bird," John grumbled, glaring at the cat.

"Jealous, are we?" Paul teased. John grumbled something again. The cat pawed at the window again, letting out an innocent meow. I looked away, not willing to let it worm its way into my heart. Backing away from the window, I saw its wide green eyes, stretched to adorable proportions, looking back at me.

"Come on, can't we let him in?" EC begged, taking my spot at the window. John, noticing that he was squished between Paul and EC, backed up towards me.

"We're not letting it in," John ordered. I bristled at him telling me what to do, but had to agree. Forcing myself to relax, I sat down on the bed. John sat next to me and wrapped his arm around me again. I nestled into his arms.

"Oh, come one, mate," Paul said, "It's only a kitty."

"And we'll be spending all day with it tomorrow," I replied for John. With relief, I saw Lewis turn around and prepare to leap out of my window well. He turned back and looked in my room mournfully, then took his leap and was out of sight.

EC's shoulders sagged slightly with disappointment. Paul put his arm around her and led her to sit on the other side of the bed.

"Don't worry, love, we'll find a cat for you that nobody can resist," Paul said quietly. EC mumbled something, and I noticed her voice was content.

John suddenly leaned closer and put his lips on mine. My eyes widened in shock, then I kissed him back, all other thoughts gone. I was fairly certain my brain function went down about 90 percent while kissing him, but I could care less. I put my arms around him, hugging him as he hugged me. He began to stroke my face, setting all my nerves into overload with the dizzy happiness at his touch.

After what seemed like forever, but it was still not long enough for me, we pulled apart, breathing raggedly. I searched his face and was pleased to find an expression of pure bliss, just like the one I was feeling, on his face. I stared into his eyes, wondering what he was thinking and what would happen next.

The moment was broken when something bumped my back. I turned to find Paul and EC glued together at the face, eyes closed. Paul's shoulder had bumped me, unnoticed by him in his moment of joy. I was a bit uncomfortable watching them kiss; it had always seemed like something one should do in private. Then again, I couldn't really talk. John and I were just kissing in front of them. Payback, I suppose.

"I think this kiss was better," John said, a bit dreamily, "Best I've ever had, actually."

I laughed and leaned into him. As I did this, John was adjusting his sitting position, leaving his body unbalanced. He fell over, and I fell with him. I found myself lying on top of him, laughing. He was laughing, too, and didn't seem to mind.

"Oh ho ho!" Paul said suddenly. He and EC had finally broken their kiss apart. "Johnnie, get a room!"

"I've got one, don't I?" John replied with a grin.

I don't think Paul knew what to say to that one, so he just shrugged and lay down on the bed. EC, after a moment of uncertainty, lay down next to him, barely being able to fit on the now-crowded bed. It was a bed made for two people, four was a tight fit. But, honestly, that was fine by me. I reached for the light switch, glad that it was within my reach, and turned off the light. With the room in darkness, I put my head down and grinned. If I could ever fall asleep with this feeling of complete joy, I knew it'd be a good night.

"G'night, Paulie," John said.

"G'night, John," Paul replied.

"G'night, Mooncow," John said giving me a squeeze.

"G'night, John," I replied, grinning widely.

"G'night, EC," Paul whispered.

"G'night, Paul," EC whispered back.

"G'night, EC," John said, rather loudly.

"Good night, John," EC replied with a slight lack of enthusiasm.

"Mooncow, say goodnight to EC and Paulie," John whispered to me.

I let out a chuckle then said, "G'night, EC. G'night, Paul."

"G'night, Mooncow," they replied in unison.

"Can we go to sleep now, John?" Paul asked.

John let out a snore that I was sure was fake. Then the room became quiet, filled only with the quiet breathing of four people.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: Where's George?**

Morning started with a loud crash.

"WHAAAAAGH!" I heard, then was pushed to the side, off of John as he sat up in panic at the sound of the crash. I rolled into another body. Opening my eyes, I found myself face-to-face with a bleary-eyed Paul. I quickly sat up.

"John, what's your bloody problem this time?" Paul asked a bit angrily.

John had just finished looking around the room wildly. "Evil fangirl demon… She had gills, Paul, gills!"

"I'm okay, if anyone was wondering," EC mumbled. I leaned over Paul's legs, trying to see where she had gone.

"Oh, there you are," I said, spotting her sitting on the floor, tangled up in a blanket, "What're you doing on the floor?"

She glared at me, then rubbed her elbow. "Hitting my funny bone, I guess," she said bitterly.

I turned my attention back to John. "Bad dream, eh?" I asked.

"Bloody scary dream…" John replied, "You ever have a fan with a devil's tail chase you down a deserted street made of cornbread? It's not what I'd call a good dream."

I sympathized with his dream. I'd had plenty of realistic dreams that had me waking up in cold sweats, terrified of every corner of my room. "Wanna talk about it?" I asked, both for his peace of my mind and my own curiosity as to what his dream was all about.

John shook his head and put on his tough face. "Nah, it was only a dream, after all. Not gonna kill me."

Paul shook his head slowly.

"Hey, what time is it?" EC asked suddenly, looking around for a clock. I pulled my alarm clock from its place on the table next to my bed. It read: 7:46. "Oh, shoot! I gotta call my parents and tell them I'm here and okay! They're probably freaking out!" She ran up the stairs, presumably to call her parents.

John did a weird roll off of the bed, landing on his knees on the floor. He got up and stretched. I was once again reminded that he needed a change of clothes. And bad.

Paul buried his face back into the pillow and curled up, ready to go back to sleep.

"Wait here," I told John, then stood on the bed and jumped onto the floor. I went up three flights of stairs and walked into my parents' room. They had left for work, so it was just me and the Beatles and EC. I walked over to my dad's dresser and opened a random drawer. It was filled with socks and boxers. I shut it quickly, and opened the next one. This one contained shorts.

"Perfect," I said out loud, pulling out two pairs of jean shorts. I unfolded one and imagined John and Paul trying to make it stay up. Mentally laughing, I walked to the closet and grabbed two of my dad's belts, then grabbed two shirts at random off their hangers.

As I walked back into my bedroom, I found John with his shirt in hand. Paul was sleeping.

Trying not to stare at John's bare chest, I set the clothes on the bed. "If you want to change into something a bit cleaner, you can wear these," I told him. He shrugged and began to pull his pants down. Before I could stop him, he was standing in just his boxers.

"I don't know, I could just walk around like this all day," John said, then walked towards me. He stood in front of me, then snagged me into a bear hug.

"Hey!" I protested, not liking how my arms were pinned to my sides. He slackened his grip enough for me wiggle my arms loose. I began pushing him away, conscious of all his bare skin. Then I decided against it and hugged him back.

"It's all good, my parents -what is going on?" EC said as she walked into my bedroom. All she could see from her angle was my back and John's bare arms and legs. She probably thought John was stark-naked.

I turned my head towards her. "It's okay, he's got boxers."

"Well, I would hope so!" EC replied.

"Erm… Johnnie," Paul said from the bed, "As great a view as your bum is, I'd appreciate it if you'd get it out of me face."

I turned John to the side, half-heartedly trying to separate myself from him. Turning sideways, I made it so both Paul and EC were looking at our sides, not someone's backside.

"What're these clothes on the bed for?" EC asked, examining them on the bed.

"Well, whenever John's ready to get dressed," I paused, taking a moment to sniff his skin, "And take a shower, he definitely needs a shower, then he gets a lovely outfit. Paul gets one, too, although I don't know if he needs a shower or not."

Paul sat up and looked at the shorts and t-shirts. John saw his gaze and I could feel his muscles tense around me. I had a moment to think "uh-oh" when Paul began to slowly reach for a pair of shorts.

John lunged for the shorts, taking me with him. His left arm kept me from hitting the floor while his right snatched the shorts and the black t-shirt. He straightened up, pulling me back up and on my feet.

"Show-off," muttered Paul, gathering up the other pair of shorts and the yellow t-shirt. Holding the t-shirt up, he looked at me with disappointment. "A turtle? It's a yellow t-shirt with a turtle? How very manly…"

"Ha, you got the girly shirt!" John held his shirt up behind my back, and I wondered which one he got.

Paul snickered, "Ooh, a rainbow! Yes, you're right, a rainbow is much manlier than a turtle."

"Rainbow?" I muttered, wondering which shirt he got. "Oh! Does it say Pink Floyd or Dark Side of the Moon, by any chance?"

"That it does," John replied.

"Oh, then it's not just a rainbow. It's a rock 'n roll t-shirt."

"Ha!" John said triumphantly, "My shirt is better!"

"Then do us all a favor and put it on, will you?" Paul said. He had woken up enough to tease instead of grump.

"Alright, alright," John said. With a sigh he let go of me. "Brr, it's cold in here!" he commented after pulling away. I agreed. Body heat did wonders to warm one's self up.

That was when Ringo walked in the room.

"Oh…" he said, confused, "I don't wanna know, John."

"It's better not to ask," Paul said mildly, getting off the bed.

"Hey, Ringo, where have you been?" I asked. He looked rested, so he must have slept somewhere. I didn't see him in my house, but that didn't mean he wasn't there.

"Oh, out and about," he replied, "How come those two get new clothes?"

I turned to see Paul taking his shirt off, while EC stared. Paul glanced over at her and smiled. "Would you like a hug, love?" he asked, spreading his arms towards her. She accepted the hug, looking at me over Paul's shoulder.

"Well," I replied to Ringo, "They're not _new _exactly… Uh, why don't you come up with me to pick some out for you," I suggested, noticing Ringo's jealous look towards Paul. I could tell he didn't want to see the two of them pressed together, and I was willing to give them some privacy.

"Whoa, these pants are a bit wide for me…" John said, pulling the waist on the pants in front of, reminding me of one of those weight loss commercials.

"Use the belt," I said, pointing at the one on the bed. John grabbed it and put it around his waist. I turned towards the day, Ringo following.

"Rings, what do you think you're doing?" John asked accusingly.

"Relax, John, I'm showing him where the clothes are, and…" I trailed off, nodding towards Paul and EC, who had begun kissing.

"Hm, perhaps I'll come with you guys," John said, taking the hint that Paul and EC needed some privacy. He turned to Paul, "Try not to do too much damage, Paulie."

Paul raised a hand in acknowledgement.

"Yeah, well, it's up this way," I said, leading John and Ringo up the stairs.

I let Ringo pick out his own clothes, which got a grumble out of John, then I grabbed clothes at random for George, thinking he was probably here somewhere.

"Hey, Rings, where's George?" John asked.

Ringo looked around. "What, he's not here? I knew I shouldn't have brought him to the bloody pub…"

"Don't you need ID's for that?" I asked.

"What?" Ringo asked, grinning, "ID's? Foreigners like us don't know anything about ID's! Luckily, the barman was a nice bloke and understood all about our foreign ways."

"Oh, I see…" I replied, thinking about how stupid people could be around here.

"Alright, but where's George?" John asked, "You know he shouldn't be out on the streets alone!"

"I dunno, do I? I wasn't in the position to watch him! Or remember anything really…"

I covered my face with my hand. "So, you don't have any idea where George is?"

"Not really," Ringo replied, "But he's a big boy, I think he can handle it."

John looked ready to murder Ringo. "You lost George! You know he's younger than us! Why would you ever do that?"

"He's only younger than us by three years, John!"

"You think I don't bloody know that? But that's three whole years of experience that he doesn't have!"

I interrupted, "Uh, guys. We can go look for him, this town isn't that big. He shouldn't be too hard to find."

"We shouldn't _have _to look for him, but this idiot…" John trailed off, grumbling to himself. Ringo hung his head in shame.

"Right, well, John and I will tell Paul and EC that we're going out. We may as well find a place to eat breakfast while we're out," I tried to sound cheery for Ringo's sake, "And why don't you get dressed, then throw your clothes on top of the washer."

I grabbed John's hand and led him back to my room. "John, it's okay, we'll find George. Nothing ever happens in this town, he's probably just walking around, a little lost, perhaps."

"If I find something happened to George, I'll murder Rings," John promised. I rolled my eyes.

We reached my door, which was closed. I didn't remember closing it before we left the room. I looked at John, then slowly pushed it open.

"Oh ho!" John cried out. EC and Paul were tangled together on the bed, lips locked. Paul hadn't yet gotten his shirt on and was still wearing his dress pants. As John called out, Paul's eyes shot open and he gently pushed EC away. EC looked at his eyes, then followed their gaze to us.

"Erm…" I began, feeling a bit awkward, "Why don't you guys get ready to go out… We have to go find George. And some breakfast. EC, if you want to borrow some of my clothes, the closet's all yours."

"Ta," EC said, her cheeks flushed. She walked over to the closet.

"So, what's this about finding George?" Paul asked, shamelessly undressing down to his boxers. He pulled on my dad's shorts and tightened the belt.

"Ringo lost him," John said bitterly.

"Doesn't Ringo realize that George is the youngest?" Paul asked in dismay.

"Wait, aren't you only a year older than him?" EC asked from in the closet. The curtain was closed behind her.

"Yeah, but that means I got a whole year more experience than him."

EC emerged from the closet in a pair of my shorts and one of my t-shirts. I went into the closet next and picked out a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt that I knew brought out my eyes. I put those on, not paying attention to the conversation beyond the curtain.

I got out and stepped back into the room. As I looked up, I saw Paul throwing a sock at John, who reacted a little too late, as if he couldn't quite see what was going on.

"John, have you ever worn contacts?" I asked, opening my desk drawer where my contact stash was hidden.

He groaned, but accepted the contacts and popped them into his eyes. That done, I grabbed my bag and threw my wallet in there. I slung it on my back and headed up the stairs once again. As I rounded the corner to the next flight of stairs, Ringo ran into me.

"Sorry," he said apologetically, "We leaving then?"

"Yup," I replied, then walked up the stairs and out the door. The others all followed. We chose our bikes, then headed out, calling for George occasionally.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: On the Job**

"Why can't we find George?" I asked, sitting on my bike.

John, Ringo, Paul, and EC were next to me, munching on our breakfast of choice: donuts from the nearest convenience store. We had been out looking for George for an hour and a half without finding even the slightest trace of the guy.

" 'ey, Mooncow," John said suddenly, "Don't we have a job we have to be at…?"

"OH SHITE!" I cried, looking at my watch. We were already fifteen minutes late. Looking at John, I finished off my donut and got ready to pedal as fast as I could.

John looked back at EC, Paul, and Ringo. "We have to go. New job and all that."

"See you later!" I called, getting my bike moving. John was right next to me. I heard a protest from EC, but couldn't make out what she said. I just kept biking forward, determined to get to my new job at the earliest I possibly could.

"You don't think George ended up near Mr. Psycho's house, do you?" John asked as we raced down the street.

"I don't know why he would, but maybe… We can check, anyway," I said, then added, "Please don't call him Mr. Psycho to his face. I would like to keep this job for more than a day."

"Yes, ma'am!" John agreed. I rolled my eyes as we turned onto Gooseberry Street.

Racing into Mr. Richard's driveway, I saw that our tardiness did not go unnoticed.

"Oh, so you decided to show up, after all. Kind of you," he said sarcastically. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, staring at his driveway when he rode in. He had on his hobo clothes again and had smeared dirt on his face and in his hair.

"Better late than never, right?" John said as we skidded to a stop and got off our bikes.

"Well, yes, I suppose so," Mr. Richards replied, "But the matter at hand is you're late! Chancey, Lewis, and Arnold are disappointed that you were not punctual."

"I'm sorry," I said, stepping in front of John, who had just opened his mouth to say something, "We were out looking for a friend this morning and lost track of time. It won't happen again."

"No, I'm certain it won't," Marden Richards said, making me fear for our newly-found job. Instead of firing us, though, he nodded his head as if everything made sense now. "Ah, yes, your lost friend. Lewis told me something about him. Or I assume it's him. Lewis can be so cryptic sometimes!"

I exchanged a glance with John.

"Well, no time for all this, go on in!" Mr. Richards said, pointing to his front door, "You will find the cleaning supplies just inside the door. I'd appreciate it if you cleaned the upper level today, and the lower tomorrow. Now, I must go. I wish you luck!"

And with that, he got into his car and drove off, leaving John and I to stand there and stare after him.

"Did he just tell us to clean the whole second floor?" John asked, looking up at the house. I did the same, and felt any good mood I had vanish. The house was huge.

"I suppose we should get started, then," I said unhappily. John sighed and we walked in the door.

"Whoa!" I said as Arnold leaped towards me, nearly knocking me over. He wagged his little stub of a tail as fast as he could make it go. Lewis and Chancey were nowhere in sight.

In the middle of the floor stood a heap of cleaning supplies, anything we could ever need. There were rubber gloves, a vacuum, two brooms, two mops, mop buckets, a pile of washcloths, spray bottles by the dozen, a toilet brush, a duster, and sponges.

"Oh boy…" John said slowly. The mound was overwhelming, but I knew we had to start sometime.

"Well, why don't we start with…" I paused, then thought about where to start, "Dusting! We'll start with dusting. Why don't you grab that duster, and I'll bring a cloth with this dusting spray."

John grabbed the duster and I grabbed the cloth. We walked up the stairs, and down to the far end of the hallway. I opened the first door.

"What is this?" John asked as we peered into the room. I was expecting a bedroom or a sitting room or even a storage room. And I suppose it was a storage room of some sort, just not what I was expecting. It was full of old costume clothes, or what I assumed was costume clothes. They were hung from racks and looked to be from nearly every decade in every country since the beginning of humanity. There were robes made from a piece of cloth, clasped together with a Grecian-looking metal piece. There were multiple kimonos in about 3 different sizes. From more recent times, there were suits similar to those the Beatles had been wearing, there were bright leggings and leg warmers, there were vintage t-shirts.

"This is amazing…" I breathed. Then I wondered how we were expected to clean this room with everything in it. There was nothing to dust, unless we were expected to dust the cloth. All the clothes everywhere would make it very difficult to vacuum, and it's not like we were going to sweep the carpet.

"So, I'd say this one's pretty clean," I said, then closed the door. John opened the next door.

"This is going to be an interesting day," he said. I peered around him and gasped. It was another unexpected room, but one I liked much better than the clothing room.

"A guitar room?" I asked in amazement. This room had at least twenty guitars of all sizes in it. There were electrics in different styles and bright colors, acoustics in black and natural, and even a little folk guitar.

"Not just guitars," John corrected, pointing at a drum set in the corner. He pointed his finger to a different corner of the room. "Bass guitars, too. And… Is that a harmonica?"

"So it is," I replied, noticing the instrument next to one of the acoustic guitars. John picked it up and brought it to his lips. He began to play the harmonica part of "Love Me Do."

"First instrument I learned to play," he said when he was done.

"That was amazing," I told him. I was in awe. EC had told me that he played harmonica, and I just laughed, thinking of circus performers for some reason. Now that I heard what he could do with a harmonica, my perception on the instrument changed completely.

"Why, thank you," he said, with a mock bow, "So should we dust off the guitars?"

"Might as well," I replied, taking my cloth in hand. I began wiping the dust off of the nearest guitars, methodically making my way around the room. It was surprising how much dust was actually on them, as if they'd sat there unplayed for a very long time.

When we had finished that, we moved on to the next room and the rooms after that. Not one of them was what I expected to find. There was a room full of art supplies and paintings, and a room with movies, more movies than I had ever seen. The most normal room was probably the one filled with the pets' beds, toys and food. We cleaned all that we could, then at about 2, we took a lunch break.

"That was work," John said as we made our way to the kitchen to wash our hands of all the cleaning chemicals.

"That it was. And we're not done yet," I reminded him, thinking of the last four rooms we had to do. John turned the water on in the sink and grabbed some soap. As I waited for him to finish, I noticed a note on the refrigerator:

"The two of you,

You can take what you wish from the fridge and cupboards for lunch, so long as you put away what you don't use. Enjoy!

Marden Richards"

"Hey, John," I said, "We can eat lunch here."

"Isn't that stealing?" he asked, drying his hands on a towel.

"Not if you're given permission. Take a look," I said, handing him the note. I washed my hands as he read it.

"Alright then, what do we have in the fridge?"

He opened it and we looked inside, amazed, yet not surprised, at the vast amount of food jammed in there.

"Bon appetite!" I said.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Company**

After we finally settled on something and ate it, we went back to work. We made our way back up the stairs to start on the final four rooms.

"Think any of these will be your normal everyday rooms?" John asked with a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure we're in for a few more surprises before we get anything normal," I replied, pushing open the door on the next room.

I wasn't really surprised to find a room devoted completely to cheese. Not real, edible cheese, I was grateful to find. There was a sofa with a spongy-looking texture, colored yellow with darker spots made to represent holes. Next to the sofa was a triangular table that looked like a piece of cheese cut from a larger circle. With amusement, I saw the rest of the circle in a corner of the room, holding small cheese figurines. Even the light, glowing above our heads, looked like a chunk of cheese.

"Excuse my cheesy joke, but don't you feel like we just found the holiest place in the house?" John said, looking around.

I groaned, "Of all the cheeses in the world, the best you could come up with was 'holy?' Honestly, I was expecting more from you!"

He shrugged and we began to dust around the knick-knacks. It was not an easy job, there were little cheese memorabilia on every flat surface.

"Did you hear something?" John said suddenly. I was looking at a random mound of plastic cheese that was probably supposed to look like something, but it really didn't.

"Hm?" I replied absent-mindedly. Maybe it was supposed to be a lumpy seal. Perhaps a bunny with a tumor. Or it could be a pair of pants thrown absently on the floor, then sculpted into plastic to be remembered forever as cheese pants. I had no idea.

"There it is again," John said, his voice hushed.

I looked up, his quiet, cautious voice catching my attention more than his normal confident voice would have. "What?" I whispered back.

He held up his hand, shushing me. Normally, I would have felt insulted, but I could see something was truly bothering him. I listened, straining to hear anything unusual. All that could be heard was the normal hum of electricity and our own breathing. Then I heard something. A faint hum, lower pitched than that of the electricity.

"I hear it," I told John as he turned towards me, a question on his lips, "No, I'm not sure what it is… Unless…"

As I paused, the answer to what it could be just out of reach, he said, "Wait, that's not a doorbell, is it?"

Then it clicked, and I felt immensely stupid. "Sure it is," I said, "But… Should we answer it?"

"I don't see why not," John said, getting up and glancing towards the stairs. With an impish grin he hollered, "Last one there has to do the vacuuming!" and burst into a sprint. I ran after him, speeding down the stairs. As we passed a checkered couch, I caught up to him and nudged him to the side, sending him flying onto the sofa, landing on a soft cushion.

" 'ey!" he protested as I ran by. I pulled out my psycho laugh, then burst into a fit of giggles. I slowed down as I reached the door.

The doorbell rang again, sounding loud and impatient.

"Hold on a sec," I muttered as I fumbled with the lock. Then, I pulled the door open, expecting a salesman or a little girl selling cookies.

"Oh, good, it is you!" EC said, standing in the doorway.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" I asked, a bit confused. Slightly behind EC stood Paul and Ringo.

Ringo smiled good-naturedly. "We came to pick you guys up from work. Walked up and down this bloody street trying to find you guys."

"Oh, well, come on in, I guess. We're not quite done yet, but we should be soon. You might as well sit down and relax, I suppose," I told them, stepping aside to allow everyone to come in.

"Ringo? Paul and EC? What are you guys doing here?" John asked from his place on the couch. He was sitting on it, not as a normal person would, but on the back with his legs on either side of the couch. He wore a grin on his face that looked slightly mischievous.

Paul saw that grin, too and stopped in his tracks. "Lennon? What are you planning, you great fool?"

Ringo, unfortunately, did not notice the grin on his face, and walked towards the couch. With a quick leap, John landed right beside him and was about to tackle his band mate, but Ringo was quicker. Without thinking, he flung an arm wildly towards John, whacking him in the stomach. John backed up, bent over in pain.

"

John! Oh, John, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, John, it was involuntary, a reflex, John, are you ok?" Ringo sputtered.

John slowly straightened up. "Christ, Ringo, I wasn't expecting THAT."

"You know, you kind of deserved it, Johnnie," Paul said with an amused expression on his face.

"Then, you deserve this," John said, taking a step towards Paul and lightly smacking his head. Paul ducked, too late, then stood rubbing his head.

EC was looking around in wonder at all the checkerboard designs. She looked up and I followed her gaze. The ceiling, also covered in checkerboards, made my eyes ache, so I looked away. Unfortunately, there was no escape from that pattern in this room.

"Hey, we should finish up," I reminded John, glad for the excuse to leave the room.

John sighed. "Suppose we should."

"You're vacuuming, remember," I said, a playful smile on my face. I wheeled the vacuum to him. "Your chariot awaits, sir."

John mumbled something, then began to lug the heavy thing up the stairs. I followed, a little nervous of him falling backwards. Luckily, he made it to the top without any incidents. After the stairs was another matter, though.

"Mooncow…" John hissed, "That damn cat is staring at ye…"

I followed his gaze to the railing that stood along the hallway. Lewis was sitting on the ledge, staring coolly at me. He flicked his tail calmly, then let it settle, draping over the side of the railing.

"Relax, John. It is only a cat," I assured him, but felt a prickle of doubt. There was something too intelligent for my liking staring at me from the depths of that cat's green eyes. Lewis seemed to know something, possibly something about me. It was like he knew a deep, dark secret about me that I wasn't even aware of.

"All the same, I'd feel better if it stayed away," John said, a little nervously. The cat flicked its glance to John, sizing him up. John glared back, and I could almost hear a growl in his throat, although it was probably just my imagination. Lewis flicked an ear, then continued to calmly stare back.

"Lennon?" Paul called up, "Are you really having a face-off with a bloody cat?"

That seemed to break whatever held John's glare to Lewis. They both looked away, but I saw that Lewis had a satisfied look to him. He held his body more proudly than before.

"Let's go," I muttered, nudging John towards the cheese room so he could vacuum. I then moved on to the next room, cautiously looking inside.

What I saw surprised me more than any other room we walked into. It was a normal-looking study. There was a wooden desk with a slightly outdated computed seated on the left side. A comfortable-looking office chair sat in front of this. On the other side of the desk was a lamp with a soft yellow shade. The desk was free of any papers, except for the ones that I assumed were tucked into the two drawers on the right side under the desk surface.

On the other side of the room stood two file cabinets, solemn-looking and boring. There was nothing else in the room.

I could hear the roar of the vacuum from next door as John cleaned the carpet. I began to dust off the computer, desk and file cabinets. The vacuum turned off and a few seconds later John walked in the room, lugging the vacuum with him.

"Whoa," he said, letting go of the vacuum and looking at the plain, boring room.

"Pretty exciting, huh?" I said sarcastically.

John snorted and plugged the vacuum in. It roared to life and he began to push it around the room. I smiled at the way he shoved it impatiently into corners, then pulled it back violently. He was not made for the maid business.

He looked up at me and said something, but over the roar of the vacuum, I couldn't understand a word of it. I tilted my head sideways and drew my eyebrows together, trying to make him understand that I had no idea what he said. He started to try talking again, then stopped and switched off the vacuum instead.

"You want to move so I can vacuum that spot?" he said.

"I think it looks clean enough," I said, reaching out for a hug. He accepted and we embraced. I breathed in his scent, a smell that I had begun to know so well.

"I think we're too clean," he replied teasingly. I rested my head on his shoulder as he decided to swing me around.

"I can't dance, you know," I said as he began to sway.

"I'll teach ye," he replied. He continued to slow dance, carrying me with him. I wasn't one for dancing, but I was really enjoying that dance. I closed my eyes and followed where John led me.

A loud noise made us break apart in a panic. In the doorway, a certain orange cat was yowling. He stopped and looked at us reproachfully.

"Bloody cat," John mumbled angrily. Lewis turned his green eyes on John and hissed. He then padded up to me and began rubbing on my pants leg, changing his angry hiss to a soothing purr. I took a step back.

"Sorry," I apologized to the cat as it stared at me with big, soft eyes, "I guess I'm not really a cat person."

"I don't think that counts as a cat," John muttered. I was about to protest, but then thought different. I'd never met a cat quite like this before.

"Maybe its not…"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: The Strangest Room**

I heard footsteps rushing down the hall as I stared in wonder at Lewis.

"They're in that room!" Paul was shouting. There were more footsteps, then Paul burst into the room, brandishing a mop as a weapon. Ringo followed, carrying a small lamp with the cord trailing behind him. EC came last, carrying a couch cushion.

"What's going on?" Paul demanded, "We heard a scream or something."

"Or something," I agreed, "Lewis doesn't like John."

Paul laughed. "What? Someone not liking Lennon? Unheard of!" he teased.

"Oh, hush," John said, laughing. He noticed Paul's weapon of choice. "And what were ye planning on doing with a mop?"

"It could have come in handy to hit someone over the head with," Paul said, a bit defensively. Ringo acted out hitting someone on the head with his lamp as an example.

I looked at EC's couch cushion, the checkerboard pattern looking way too exciting to fit in with the room we were in. "And what would that do? You gonna smother someone?"

EC shrugged. "It would have worked."

"Well, thank you all for coming to see us, but we have work to do," John said, shooing them out of the room.

"Sure," Paul smirked, "The vacuum hasn't been going for a good ten minutes. What were you doing? Picking the dirt out of the carpet with your bare hands?"

John bent down and pretended to inspect the carpet, picking at it occasionally. "There, all clean."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him up.

"Right, then," EC said, backing out of the room. I'll just go put this cushion back on the couch. Coming, Paul?"

Paul glanced at John with a look that said he'd scold him later, then followed EC out of the room with his mop. Ringo began to follow, but with a look from Paul, stopped. He looked at John and me as we inched closer to each other. He seemed uncertain where to go to avoid interrupting someone's privacy.

"Erm, hey Ringo," I said, "You hungry? The kitchen's downstairs and through the big door…"

He took the hint and nodded, his face flushed slightly. He walked quickly out of the room.

I looked up at John. "So…" I trailed off, wondering what to do next.

Lewis jumped up on the desk behind me and butted his head into my side. I moved out of his reach. He jumped down and rubbed his head against me again. So, I moved again. When he went in for another head butt, John tried to intervene.

"Okay, cat," he said, pushing the cat away from me. Lewis hissed and went right back to hitting my legs with his head. I bent down.

"You want attention, is that it?" I asked, petting the orange tom. He shook his head and backed away. Then he moved forward again and nudged me harder.

"Leave her alone," John snarled. I motioned for him to calm down. It was just a cat. I was pretty sure it was just a cat, anyway.

"What do you want?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. Lewis sat back and cocked his head, looking thoughtful. Then he stared into my eyes with great concentration. I stared back, unable to turn from the depths in those emerald eyes. I wasn't drawn to them like I was to John's eyes, but rather like my body was paralyzed. I could feel my eyes widen and tried to blink them shut. I couldn't do it, although I struggled fiercely.

Then, I stopped struggling, wondering how I could possibly get out of this paralysis. I opened my mind to try to conjure up other ideas, anything that would help. That was when I understood was Lewis was doing. I heard a thought. It sounded like any of my other thoughts, but I knew it was not from my own mind, just as I knew that Lewis was no ordinary cat.

"Follow me. Follow me. Follow me, girl, follow me."

I understood that this was Lewis's thought. He had somehow made me hear it. I let my own thoughts drift towards that one, holding on to it and making it my own.

"Follow him. Follow Lewis. Follow the cat."

I tried nodding my head to tell Lewis I understood, but I was still unable to move. Concentrating as hard as I could, I tried to tell him, tried to scream it at him, but my mouth didn't even twitch. Panicking again, I felt my thoughts make a mess of themselves, swirling around in ways that made no sense. The only clear thought was the one that was not my own. I wanted to get it out of my head, get away from it. I felt a touch on my shoulder and wanted to scream at it, tell it to let go, let me get away. It gripped my shoulder and began to shake. I screamed silently, the sound echoing only in mind, but not escaping my closed lips. Images swirled in front of my eyes; I no longer saw the real world.

"MOONCOW!" A voice screamed as pain shot through my cheek. I sucked in a mouthful of air, unaware that I had stopped breathing. I looked around and realized I was higher than before. Actually, I was on my feet. Well, I wasn't really standing, just leaning into a warm body. A hand was clutching my shoulder, helping to hold me up. I turned my gaze to see who I was leaning on. It was John, of course.

"Oh, hi," I croaked, smiling.

"Mooncow!" he cried wrapping me in a hug. He pushed me out so we saw face to face. "Mooncow, what the bloody hell just happened there? You were talking to that damn cat, then you just stopped. Stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped breathing! Towards the end, your eyes changed to a terrible lime green and I thought… I didn't know what to think!"

"Oh…" I murmured sleepily. My thoughts had settled down and were now hard to reach. I remembered one pretty clearly, though. "I have to follow Lewis."

John stared into my face. "You what?"

"Lewis," I repeated, "I have to follow him. I think it's important."

I felt a small nudge on my leg and looked to see Lewis nudging me towards the door. I realized he was trying to herd me towards me, like a sheepdog did with sheep. I slipped out of John's grip and followed the cat as he walked to the door.

"Mooncow? Mooncow, I think we need to get you to a doctor," John said worriedly, following me.

"No," I assured him, "I'm okay. Lewis is just gonna show me something."

I followed the cat down the hall, feeling very tired. He led me to the door at the very end of the hallway. Pawing at it, he looked at me.

"Ok," I agreed, knowing that he wanted me to open it. I did.

"Mooncow, you're scaring me…" John said, "Something's wrong with you…"

I ignored John and looked into the room instead. It was completely empty. I looked at Lewis curiously. He walked calmly to the far wall and sat there, staring at it. He glanced back and me and flicked his tail, so I walked up next to him.

"It's an empty room, let's leave," John suggested. I ignored him again.

"Meow." That's what Lewis said, but something in me knew he was trying to tell me to open the wall.

"Bloody hell!" John gasped, "Your eyes! They flashed green, I swear it!"

I didn't care. I was beginning to be able to think again. Not enough to realize how incredibly weird this was, but enough to see a small tear in the wallpaper in the shape of a door. I grabbed at the door and felt my fingernails slide into the tear. I began tugging.

"Mooncow? MOONCOW?" John yelled, "What are you doing? MOONCOW?!"

"Everything okay up there?" I heard a voice from downstairs, slightly muffled. It was Paul. After a short pause, he asked again, "John? Mooncow? Is everything alright?"

I kept tugging, then fell to the side when my nails slipped out of the wall. I put them back as John grabbed my shoulders and pulled me away.

"John," I said softly, "Let me do this. There's something in here we need to see. Trust me."

He looked into my eyes and considered this for a moment. He sighed. "I don't suppose I could really stop you," he muttered, then let me go. I began to tug again.

Footsteps in the hall alerted me to Paul and EC approaching, but I ignored it.

"What is going on up here?" Paul demanded. He sounded unhappy. The huff I heard from EC suggested she felt the same, as if John's hollering interrupted something. I decided not to care.

"Mooncow, what are you doing?" EC asked in exasperation.

"Having a nervous breakdown, I think," John said, "I tried to stop her, but she was determined, so I let her go."

"You don't let go of someone who's trying to claw their way into a wall!" Paul sighed, walking towards me. I gave a bit more effort to my tugs and was rewarded with a gratifying click. I could dig my whole hand in the crack now, and did so. Pulling with all my strength, the wall slid aside.

"See?" I said, stepping back and staring defiantly at everyone's shocked faces. Paul had frozen mid-step. John's chin was slack, as was EC's. I looked back into the room I had just opened. It was dark except for a small glowing sphere.

I heard a voice from downstairs again. It was Ringo.

"Oh, hello, you must be Mr. Richards. I'm Ringo, John's friend," he said.

"No time for your introductions, young man, I can smell it from here. Yes, I know what those two did," Mr. Marden Richards said a bit angrily, "They opened it, yes they did, and now I don't know what I'm going to." He began up the stairs, stomping angrily. Ringo was spluttering something and seemed to be following.

"JOHN AND MOONCOW!" Marden Richards roared as he approached the room, "What do you think you are doing?"

He completely ignored Paul and EC, but marched up to John. Seeing how shocked John was, he moved on to me.

"So, you're the troublemaker, are you?"

"Sir," I began, beginning to realize how insane I was going to sound, "Lewis, your cat, he told me to open this door. Well, he didn't tell me, exactly. He more or less just thought it at me…"

He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. Lewis strolled up and meowed. As before, I heard the hidden message in that meow. Lewis was telling Mr. Richards to trust me. I noticed how Marden Richards' eyes flashed green as Lewis meowed. He nodded.

"Excuse me," the man apologized, "I was wrong. You were supposed to open the door, it seems. And now, you might as well come inside and see. Bring your friends."

I shrugged and began to round everyone up. John, Paul, and EC were still too amazed to anything but follow meekly. Ringo, on the other hand, was feeling a little better about this.

"So, what is this, then?" he asked.

I shrugged again, my brain finally functioning at a normal level. "I suppose we'll find out."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: the Problem**

"Come on, move along," Marden Richards said impatiently, gesturing towards the dark room.

I looked around, catching EC's eyes. They were wide with fear and uncertainty, but mingled with a strong look of curiosity.

"Alright, we're coming," I told my boss. I started walking towards the door, then looked back to make sure everyone was following. They had all begun to step in line behind me, making feel uncomfortably like a commander leading the troop to their death. Seeing Lewis following with a confident step made me feel a little better, but I still couldn't shake the image out of my head.

I stepped through the doorway, squinting in the dark gloom in hopes that I might be able to see something. The others crowded around me. I was grateful they were there; I felt comforted just knowing I wasn't alone. Even Lewis, who really creeped me out, brought comfort.

"I can't see a bloody thing!" John complained, his loud voice in the silence making me jump.

"There's a light switch right…" Mr. Richards trailed off as he began groping around in the darkness. He found it and finished triumphantly, "Here!"

The room lit up and I saw it was much bigger than I had originally thought. We were standing, squished together, in a small hallway of sorts. Beyond the hallway, the room opened up into a huge space. The white walls and pristine white tile glowed brightly in the light, and I had to blink a few times as I waited for my eyes to adjust.

"

What is that?" Ringo asked, in awe. I could only assume he was asking about the large object in front of us, centered neatly in the room. It reminded me of a giant steel hamster wheel, but the width was smaller than an enlarged hamster wheels would have been. The bottom was hooked up to a bunch of wires, bright and colorful on the clean white floor. Many of the wires led to a large desk in the corner of the room with an old-looking computer resting on the surface. The remaining wires split from the main group and led behind what looked like a slot machine from the old west.

"That, my boy, is the reason Lewis let you in here," Mr. Richards answered. He paused, then added, "I think."

I sighed impatiently. He was back to giving replies that didn't really answer the question. I wondered if he did that on purpose just to annoy us.

"No," John said through clenched teeth. He was obviously even more annoyed than I was. "What is it? What does it do?"

"Ah, well, it's a problem solver of sorts," Marden answered, giving no sign that he had picked up on John's annoyance, "You do have a little problem, don't you?"

John thought for a second, then gave him a suspicious look. "Do ye mean George? How could ye know he was missing?"

"Your friend? Well, I don't see how old Esther could help with finding your friend, frankly."

"Old Esther?" I repeated.

At the same time, John was saying, "What other problem do we have, then, if ye can't help us with George?"

Mr. Richards looked at John in confusion, his normal confidence gone. He ignored my question completely. "You don't have any problems?" he asked. He then began to muse to himself, "If they don't have a problem, it means old Esther can't help… And if old Esther can't help, then there's no reason they should be here, and if that's true, Lewis is wrong! That can't be right, Lewis is never wrong, but if they don't have a problem…"

"Wait, Lewis? The bloody cat?" Paul asked in disbelief, "Oi, we're in the same room as a psycho!"

I shushed Paul. "So, Mr. Richards, you mean to say that to be in this room, we should have a problem? Alright, and what would that problem be?" I asked. When he didn't reply, but kept mumbling to himself and fiddle with his fingers, I waved my hand in front of his face. "Hey! Mr. Richards! Marden? Hello?"

He didn't answer, so I looked around for the eerie cat. "Lewis?"

"Now she's barmy…" Paul mumbled.

"Hush, maybe…" John began, thinking of the right words to defend me, "Maybe she's right about that damn cat."

I had spotted Lewis, sitting calmly in the hamster wheel thing. He meowed. "Time."

"What the hell?" Paul explained, staring at my face as he backed away.

"Yeah, my eyes, I know," I said, wondering what Lewis had meant. Everyone around here seemed so vague about everything, it was driving me insane!

"What…what did he say?" EC asked cautiously, as if she was torn between believing me and thinking I belonged in a padded white room.

"Time," I replied, "But I'm not sure what it means…"

"Oh, shit," John groaned, "I think I do."

"Ye do?" Ringo asked. I was wondering the same thing. I couldn't figure out what John thought it meant. Then, I knew.

"No," I whispered hoarsely, my voice gone. I cleared my throat and said it louder, "No! Never! You can't do that to us!"

Lewis stared calmly at me, nodding slightly.

"What are you yelling about?" Mr. Richards asked, "You said you didn't have a problem, so your argument isn't valid."

"It's not a problem to me," John replied angrily.

Paul, understanding the issue at hand, agreed loudly, "It's not a problem at all!"

"Oh? It's not?" Marden Richards said with a slight grin, "I'd say being dragged to a different time is a slight problem. So where are you from, anyway?"

John and Paul kept their lips pressed tightly together, glowering at the man. EC and I were doing the same. Unfortunately, Ringo was not yet up on the conversation. He answered, "Well, from the 1960's, of course!"

Mr. Richards face lit up, "Oh, so you do have a problem? Well, old Esther will fix it right up, no worries. Lewis!"

The orange cat straightened up and seemed to listen intently for a moment, then jumped to his paws. He leaped off the wheel and walked towards the thing that had reminded me of a slot machine. He pawed at a small lever a few times, then began to nose around the machine.

"No," John insisted in a defiant voice, "It's not a problem."

Paul agreed, adding in his own voice of steel, "There is no problem. We like it here."

Mr. Richards sighed and attempted to put a patient look on his face. "You are from a different time, regardless of whether or not you like it here. Time travel is a dangerous thing. If we don't get you back to your correct time, anything could happen! Even if you were merely a hobo looking for a train to ride, you influence what happens in the future. So, you must go back. Old Esther here is very good at bring people back to where they belong."

"We don't belong there anymore," John argued, his eyes flaming, "Even if we agreed, which we're not, what about Georgie? We can't go anywhere without him."

Lewis meowed loudly. "Taken care of."

"Well, I expect that won't be a problem. Lewis has it all under control," Mr. Richards told everyone.

"You expect us to trust a cat on this one?" Paul asked, disbelief heavy in his voice.

"Nah, I expect the dogs are helping out, too," Marden replied.

Paul was silent for a short moment, then he replied sarcastically, "Right, then it's okay."

Lewis let out another meow as he stared at Mr. Richards. "Ready."

"Ah, good. If you'll excuse me," Mr. Richards said, walking over to the old computer on the desk.

"You were not excused, what do you bloody think yer doing?" Paul snarled as Marden Richards began to push seemingly random buttons, slowly at first, but getting quicker.

"I don't want to go back," Ringo commented, "We were making a new life for ourselves here. I was just getting excited to live it, and now it's gone."

"We're not going back," John said with determination.

"Well," sighed Paul, a sad look in his eyes, "We may not have much of a choice."

"NO!" cried EC, gripping him in an iron hug.

He hugged her back. "I'm sorry, love, but it may be for the best. What if the world were to end tomorrow, simply because we refused to go back and play our role in the last century? I'd feel awful! I couldn't do that to ye, EC. Your life would end, and it'd be… all… my… fault." Paul began to sob quietly. His tears flowed down his cheeks and plopped down onto EC's shoulder. She looked up into his face with glossy eyes, filled to the brim with tears of her own.

"Damn you, Paul," grumbled John, "I hate it when ye make sense!"

"No, John! You can't go back! Who cares if the world ends; it's bound to end sometime! At least it would end with you next to me! That's all that matters!" I told him, a lump in my throat. I fought back tears as I searched my mind for something, anything that would convince him to stay. All I got was a few song lyrics from a half-remembered song that I didn't even know if he would recognize. "All you need is love," I sang quietly, putting my arms around John and burying my face in his shoulder. He wrapped me in a hug and I could feel hot tears hitting my shoulder, soaking through my t-shirt.

"I don't want to go," John whispered.

"Don't," I ordered as I sobbed. I realized that there was a possibility that this would be our last time together. I began to cry even harder. It didn't seem fair.

"Ye can't go," EC was telling Paul, probably for the third or fourth time.

"I have to, love," he whispered to her. I looked up, blinking my tears away so I could see. They were rocking back and forth in their embrace, same as John and I. I happened to notice Ringo behind them, standing in a corner with his big, sad eyes pointed towards the ceiling. They looked to be full of tears that had somehow managed not to spill over yet. His bottom lip was quivering.

"Poor Rings," I whispered in a barely audible voice. I hadn't planned on actually letting the thought be released through my mouth. John must have heard the quiet whisper, because he looked back at Ringo and managed a weak smile.

"Join the hug-fest," he croaked. The next thing I knew, the five of us were in a group huddle, weeping openly. I had one arm around John, and the other around Ringo's shoulders.

"You guys can't leave," I murmured as I prayed silently for them to stay.

"We won't," John and Ringo said at the same time, although Ringo sounded uncertain.

"We have no choice," whispered Paul sadly, choking on the words.

"There's always a choice," John growled.

Mr. Richards had finished fiddling with the computer. "There," he said, obviously satisfied with whatever he had just done. A low hum filled the room.

"Wha's that?" asked Ringo, wiping at his eyes and sniffing. Every face in our huddle was now turned toward where the humming was coming from. The huge wheel was the source of the humming.

"What's going on?" John demanded, a look of fright filling his tear-streaked face. He tried to look strong and unconcerned, but it was easy to see the fear through his mask.

"Give Esther a second to warm up, then you can all be on your merry way!" Mr. Richards said cheerily, oblivious to the fact that we were all bawling our eyes out.

I glared at him. I'm positive EC did, too.

Suddenly, the room filled with light. It was brighter than the ceiling lights, brighter than any lights I had ever seen indoors. It was as if a miniature sun had appeared where the hamster wheel was. I squeezed my eyes shut, hearing gasps around me. The light was bright enough to glow through my eyelids strong enough to be painful. I shut them tighter, but it didn't help.

"Turn it off!" I heard Ringo bellow. His voice made him sound in pain. I suppose he was. We all were.

It seemed to glow forever, a never ending ray of pain. I pressed myself closer to John, unable to think of a way to stop this hell.

I wondered if this is what it felt like to die.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25: Esther's Hole**

After a time that seemed like an eternity or two, I found I could open my eyes without them frying. The light had died down, but it was still unnaturally bright. Blinking a few times, I looked around. Paul and John were doing the same as I was, while EC and Ringo had their faces buried in their arms.

I turned towards the source of the light. It was no longer like staring straight into the sun, but more like looking at a clouded light bulb. A huge, clouded light bulb. Inside the entire hamster-wheel-thing was the glowing light. It was very simply a large circle of glow.

"What the bloody hell is that?" John demanded, speaking slowly. Hearing his question, Ringo cautiously raised his head from his arm, blinking as he looked around.

"Hm?" Mr. Richards was calmly staring into the circle of light, a pleased grin on his face. "Oh," he said, fully realizing the question, "This is Esther's hole."

I truly expected John to make some witty, probably perverted, comment in response to that, but to my surprise, he stayed silent. I suppose he realized the severity of the situation.

Paul replied instead. "It goes home, doesn't it?" he asked bluntly. His voice was filled with sadness, but mixed equally with acceptance.

"Smart boy," congratulated Mr. Richards, "It does."

"_This _is home, Paulie!" EC said fiercely, tears flowing freely.

"Perhaps it is for you, but these boys do not belong, just as you don't belong in another time, decades from now," Marden Richards corrected, earning himself a glare from EC and I.

John took a step towards Mr. Richards, hands clenched at his side. He stood straight and tall, looking threatening. "But," he said through clenched teeth, glaring at the man, "Ye can move where you live, from one home to another. And that's exactly what I plan to do."

I nodded in agreement. His argument made sense to me, but Mr. Richards was not buying it.

"No, no, no. You're not even supposed to go on vacation from this type of home."

I got the image of a dungeon in my mind.

John looked ready to murder the guy. Mr. Richards, seeing an angry Lennon turn even angrier, took a step back. I think he was remembering what happened the last time John was ready for a fight. Paul stepped in between the two, facing John.

"John," Paul began in a soothing voice, but was interrupted.

"Paul, ye better bloody move. Get out of me way!" John snarled, "Someone's gotta fight for our choice, and ye don't look like yer gonna do it!"

"Lennon," Paul began again, sterner this time, "Settle down and think this over. We can't abandon our old lives, as far away as they may seem."

"Well, we can't abandon our new ones, either, now can we?!" John yelled. His temper was still high, but he was at least listening to what Paul was saying.

Paul put his hands on John's shoulders and looked levelly into his face. "I don't want to either, but it's for the best. We can't possibly stay here; the older versions of us must already live here. We would have no life, John. That's why we must go back. We have to live the life we were intended to live."

John gave him a sour look. "Maybe I was intended to live this life!"

"Nope," Mr. Richards said from behind Paul's shoulder, "Trust me, you were intended to live back in the '60s."

"Trust you?!" John exploded, charging towards the man. Only Paul's grip on his shoulders saved Mr. Richards, and even Paul couldn't keep him still.

During this, the light was dimming. I had noticed, but had thought nothing of it. At least, not until Ringo mentioned something.

" 'ey, Paul?" he said nervously, staring at the orb of light in the hamster wheel, "I think ye should have a look at this…"

Paul was too preoccupied with preventing murder, but EC and I looked.

"Bloody…" EC whispered, then began mumbling under breath too quietly for me to hear.

"What is that?" I asked. Through the circle of light, I could see a landscape. It was very fuzzy, but I knew it was a landscape of somewhere. Tall, fuzzy shadows stood in a background of a cool gray. I squinted, trying to get the buildings to focus, but it did nothing.

Ringo and EC gave me an odd look. "What do you mean?" EC asked, "It's obvious, isn't it?"

I shook my head slowly. "No… It's pretty vague and fuzzy, innit?"

Ringo exchanged a look with EC, then said, "No. It's clear as day. That's London. Ye really can't see it?"

I shook my head again.

Lewis appeared, seemingly from nowhere, at my feet. He rubbed his eye with his paw, then looked expectantly at me. When I gave him a quizzical look, he rolled his green cat eyes and meowed. "Glasses."

I understood quickly. He wanted me to take out my contacts. I shrugged and took them out.

"What are you doing?" Ringo asked, slightly concerned.

I looked him in the eye (or where the blue blur was located on his face) and replied, "Lewis told me to take them out."

He looked like he was going to question me again, perhaps my sanity, but he shrugged and turned back to the landscape of London. I squinted around the room, seeing nothing but colorful blurs. But when I looked at old Esther's English landscape, I gasped.

"It is London…" I murmured in amazement. The view was crystal clear, in contrast with the rest of the room.

A loud thump diverted my attention. I turned towards the noise, squinting to try to make out what was going on. All I could see was a big blur on the floor, squirming. Beyond that, it looked like someone was standing, but there was no way I could have known who.

"Paul!" EC squeaked, dashing over to the wiggling lump on the floor.

"Back away, love," Paul grunted, "I have to keep John down for a while so he doesn't bloody murder Mr. Richards."

John hollered something, but it was muffled by something, I'd assume Paul. From what I could gather, Paul had tackled John to the ground and was trying to hold him there.

Ringo went over to Paul and John and joined the dog pile. "I've got his legs!" Ringo said triumphantly.

"Fuck you!" John screamed. I went over to his side, the scene becoming only slightly clearer. Ringo had John's legs pinned under him, while Paul was sitting on John's back, keeping his arms down.

"It is time!" Mr. Richards said happily. We all looked towards him.

"What?" Ringo asked. John had stopped struggling for the moment.

"It's ready," Mr. Richards repeated, "You can go home now!" He sounded so excited, and I wondered if he understood how we felt about this.

"Ringo, help me drag Paul to the wheel thing over there," Paul said.

"Oh no ye don't!" John snarled, flailing his arms and legs. Ringo lost his grip on John's legs.

"You can't take him away, Paul!" I argued, "He wants to stay! I want him to stay!"

Paul looked at me with sad hazel eyes. "He can't. You know it as well as I do. We have to go back. Let him go."

I began sobbing again. John, hearing me cry, struggled against Paul even more. With a great heave, he bucked Paul off his back and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed me in a hug and dragged me to the door, mumbling about how he would never go. I went willingly with him, but it felt wrong. A part of me knew he had to go back.

Lewis raced in front of us, causing John to trip. I was in John's arms, so I went down with him.

"Please, Lewis," I begged. The cat gave me a hard look, then hissed.

"Come on, now, John," Paul said impatiently, "Don't be such a baby about this. We have to go." Paul's knees were scraped, as well as elbows. He had scratches along his arms and what looked to be a bite mark on his wrist.

Mr. Richards peeked his head out from behind Paul. "Time's wasting, the portal may close soon."

"Let it close!" John roared defiantly, getting to his feet. He helped me up. Paul grabbed John's shoulder again and whirled him around.

"Ye know we can't stay. Let's go, Lennon. Don't be such a bloody arse," Paul told him sternly, "Ringo and I aren't throwing a temper tantrum, are we?"

John glared at them. I hugged him tightly.

"Paul, you can't go, please don't go, Paulie!" EC said, giving Paul a hug. Paul returned it.

"I have to, love. I have to."

I looked at the portal again. It was no longer showing London, but a small street elsewhere in England.

"There it is," Paul said sadly, "Liverpool. We best be off."

"No. I'm staying," John said, pursing his lips.

Paul looked like he was about to argue, but decided against it. "Fine, but at least come say good-bye to us."

I couldn't believe my good fortune. John was going to stay! I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, grinning from ear to ear.

"Gladly," John told him. We all walked up to the portal. Lewis kept his eyes on John and me, bristling.

EC looked miserable and kept giving John and me jealous looks. I decided to ignore it and enjoy the fact that he was staying.

Ringo stopped in front of the portal first. "Well… I guess this is goodbye," he told John. John nodded.

Paul looked uncertain. "John, are ye sure? We may never see each other again." John nodded. "Well, alright. Ye've been a good friend."

"Same to ye," John replied. He offered his hand. Paul looked at, then grabbed it and dragged John into a man-hug.

"I don't know how we'll explain yer disappearance to everyone," Paul said sadly, fighting back tears.

"Ye'll manage," John said flatly, his voice void of emotion. But I saw his lip quiver and his eyes fill with tears once again. He was merely hiding his feelings again.

"Come on, now, boys," Mr. Richard said, hurrying them along, "It won't stay open forever, you know."

EC flung herself at Paul, sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, love, I have to ask ye to give me some space," he whispered to her. He said it with regret, but determination. She backed off, obviously hurt. I saw Paul give Ringo a quick look. Ringo nodded and joined Paul in hugging John.

"Miss ye so much," Paul said to EC. Then, he tapped Ringo's shoulder. Paul began pulling John with all his might, while Ringo pushed him towards the portal.

"NOO!" I cried as they all fell towards the portal. It swallowed Paul first.

John was struggling to escape, but I could see he had no chance against the other two Beatles. He gave me a helpless look and whispered, "I love ye." Then, he was gone, with Ringo a split-second after him.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed as loud as I could. I flung myself towards the portal, but Lewis was quicker. He was at the slot machine thing, and as I leapt, he pawed at a lever. As he did that, the portal disappeared, and I landed with a thump on the bare floor. I hit my head hard on the far rung of the hamster wheel and knocked myself unconscious.

For a time, my world was dark.


	26. Chapter 26 (Final)

**Chapter 26: Golden Slumbers**

_There was an elevator with a label: 1962. I pushed the button, knowing it was urgent I get on the elevator, but not knowing exactly why. When nothing happened, I punched it. It burst open, revealing a brown eye with long lashes._

_There was a grinding noise in the elevator as it starting moving upwards towards me. I stared into the eye, waiting impatiently for the elevator._

_There was a voice behind me. "It'll never work," it said. I spun around to see a stranger looking at me. Beyond him was darkness, nothing more._

_"What do you mean?" I asked, "It is working, see?"_

_I turned back to the elevator, only to see it lower past the floor I was on. As it passed by, the brown eye lowered, too. I watched as the eye was replaced by a forehead, then a mess of brown hair, then nothing._

_"See, it didn't do any good!" the stranger said._

_"Help me," I pleaded with him, "Please, help me."_

_"Wait, have patience." This was a new voice, kinder than the voice of the stranger. It seemed to be coming from right next to me, but there was nobody there when I turned to look._

_"Please, help me," I pleaded again, then screamed, "HELP ME!"_

I blinked my eyes open, awakened by my own scream. There was a man that looked to be in his 40s staring into my face.

"There, see, I told you it would work. She's coming to," he said, turning to look behind him. I followed his gaze and saw another older man. "Hey, how are you feeling?" the first man asked me. A look at his white clothes and a whiff of the antiseptic told me he was a doctor.

I didn't say anything, just looked at him. He waited patiently for an answer. I sighed, then said, "Where am I?"

He grinned and backed away from my face. "You're at the hospital. Got a nasty concussion. Fell off the stairs of that mansion, huh? Well, you'll make it. Been a couple of days, though. Bet you're hungry for some real food, no more of that intravenous stuff."

My mind whirled. Stairs of that mansion? What happened, and why couldn't I remember? All I got from my mind when I tried to bring the memory back was a deep feeling of sadness and betrayal. But I didn't know why!

"So, you never answered my question. How're ya feeling?" the doctor repeated. I noticed hid Minnesotan accent and wondered why I should notice that. I did live in Minnesota; it was what I was used to. At least, it should have been.

"I'm okay," I replied, slurring my words slightly, "A bit confused…"

"Yes, I'd imagine so. You're fine pain wise, though?"

I hadn't thought about the pain. I mentally checked to see if anything hurt. I regretted that instantly as the pain suddenly became obvious.

"Ugh," I groaned, "Everything hurts."

"I'll get you some painkillers," he said, leaving the room. I closed my eyes and waited for his return. By the time he got back, I was sleeping again.

_The elevator was slowly rising back up. I nearly shrieked with excitement. I knew something was in there that I desperately needed. I didn't need to remember what it was to know I needed it._

_There was a groan. I ignored it, figuring if the elevator was from 1962, it had a right to complain every now and then. The elevator rose slowly, so slowly. I fidgeted, playing with my fingernails._

_Suddenly, there was a great thump, and the elevator began to go back down. It picked up speed quickly. I pressed my face against the glass elevator door and watched in agony as it fell farther and farther away from me. It fell for what seemed like hours. I lost sight of it, but still kept looking into the dark hole, hoping it would come back._

_I heard a loud crash, then a small explosion. A flame shot up to the elevator door. I screeched as I saw a harmonica fly up with the flame. It burnt to a crisp slowly right in front of my eyes._

This time, when I woke up, a different face was looking into mine. It was my mom's.

"Hi, honey," she whispered, "The doc says you can come home today."

"Mom?" I croaked.

She grabbed my hand, trying to comfort me. I wondered why she was so concerned, then I realized my pillow was wet with my tears. They were still fresh on my face, too.

"I'm okay, mom," I assured her, "Just a bad dream."

"Do you think you're up for going home today?" she asked, a worried look still on her face.

"Yeah," I said, thinking how it would be so much better not smelling antiseptic every time I woke up. I felt like something was missing in my life. Maybe it was just me being homesick.

A few hours later, we were in the car on the way home. I was staring out the window, lost in thought. It was normal for me, but my mom still worried.

"Shelby missed you while you were gone," she said, trying to start a conversation.

"Aw, cute," I commented. I smiled as memories of her filled my mind. Shelby scarfing down her food, Shelby running around the couch, Shelby lying on top of me while I try to sleep, Shelby barking at nothing… Shelby whimpering to go outside at 3:30 in the morning.

That one almost brought back a memory of something else, but I couldn't quite grasp what it was.

The rest of the ride went uneventful. I fought against my mind to remember what happened, while my mom tried to strike up conversations with me. When we finally reached our house, she had given up. I was still trying hard to dig up the memories.

The door to the house opened and my dad walked out. "Hey, how're ya doing?" he asked, giving me a hug.

"Fine," I said, trying to grip the wisp of a memory that a simple hug brought back.

"Just fine?" he asked.

I smiled. "I'm a little tired."

He led me into the house, as if I had forgotten how to get in. I went straight to my room. My head was beginning to ache.

There was a loud buzzing sound from my desk. I ruffled through all the papers piled on it until I found my phone. There was a new text from EC.

"Txt me when u get out of the hospital, k?"

I sent her a text telling her I was out. As I waited for her reply, I semi-consciously turned on my CD player, trusting that I had a good CD in there already. I was surprised when an unfamiliar tune started playing.

"What the…?" I muttered to myself, taking the CD out of the player, "The Beatles? Why the hell are the Beatles…"

It began to come back to me. John sneaking in on me playing guitar, Ringo reading my dream book, George eating the peanut cookies, Paul staying at EC's… Then, I remembered what really happened in the mansion.

I quickly grabbed a pillow and screamed my agony out into it. I felt the hot tears coming again, hand-in-hand with a deep cry, the kind that you can't stop no matter how hard you try.

"John…" I whispered to my empty room, wishing he was with me. I stared off into space for a while, wondering what to do.

There was a knock at my window.

"JOHN!" I jumped up and tore back the blinds.

It was EC. She gave a sad wave, no trace of a smile on her face. My heart fell as reality and logic told me John would never be coming back. I opened the window for EC, though, glad to have a friend to share my pain with.

"Hey," she whispered, sliding into my room. I closed the window behind her.

"Hey," I whispered back, dripping tears onto the floor. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

"You remember it, then?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She was silent for a minute.

"What about George?" I asked. I didn't remember him ever being found.

"Oh, yeah. Mr. Richards said he was already back. He said that Arnold brought him back," she explained, "Did you know that cat was the real brains behind everything?"

"Yeah."

There was another long stretch of silence, with both of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Then, she spoke again.

"They made a new song," she said, "Or at least, I've never heard it until they… you know."

"Yeah." I was curious, though. EC knew every Beatles song, it seemed. If she found one she'd never heard before, did that mean they changed the future from what it originally was?

"Wanna hear it?"

"Yeah," I said, with a little more enthusiasm. She pulled a flash drive out of her pocket and plugged it into my computer. We were silent as we waited for the computer to come to life.

"Here," she said, clicking on a file. The music began to play through the speakers. I cried as I heard them singing the lyrics. Next to me, EC was sobbing just as hard as I was.

_"Once there was a way to get back homeward  
_

_Once there was a way to get back home  
_

_Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry  
_

_And I will sing a lullaby  
_

_Golden Slumbers fill your eyes  
_

_Smiles await you when you rise  
_

_Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry  
_

_And I will sing a lullaby  
_

_Once there was a way to get back homeward  
_

_Once there was a way to get back home  
_

_Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry  
_

_And I will sing a lullaby." _

We'll never know for sure whether or not the song was written for us, but it's nice to think it was. Some days, it seemed like that was all that got me through the day. If they forgot me, if John forgot me… Well, I don't know what I'd do. So, I choose to believe he didn't.

I know I'll never forget him.


End file.
